.\ 

In 

wrA ; 


48  8  A 


PROPHET'S  LANDING 


PROPHET'S  LANDING 

E  mo\>el 


BY 

EDWIN  ASA  DIX 

AUTHOR  OP 
"DEACON  BRADBURY,"  "OLD  BOWEN'S  LEGACY,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1907 


Copyright,  1907,  by 
EDWIN  ASA  Dix 

Published  April,  1907 


THE    DE  VINNE    PRESS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

i.  THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME 3 

ii.  THE  LANDING 21 

HI.  ON  THE  POINT 31 

rv.  FOOTLIGHTS 39 

v.  BRANCHING  OUT 55 

vi.  LOVE  IN  IDLENESS 67 

vn.  THE  LAW  OF  CONTRACT 78 

vin.  NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS 93 

ix.  LINKS  AND  CHAINS Ill 

x.  BY  THE  GRAY  RIVER 122 

XL  HALLOWE'EN 135 

xii.  POISON  IVY 148 

xin.  STRESS  AND  STORM 159 

xiv.  STOCKS  IN  TRADE 177 

xv.  HOME  TRUTHS 196 

xvi.  THE  GAGE  OF  BATTLE 206 

XVII.    "OUT  OF  THE  MOUTHS  OF  BABES "    ....  216 

xviii.  THE  PROPHET  SPEAKS      229 

xix.  Two  IN  COUNCIL          .    <•    .    ,  .  241 


2227854 


PROPHET'S  LANDING 


PROPHET'S  LANDING 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME 

JOEL  HARNEY'S  tall,  erect  figure  always 
seemed  taller  and  more  erect  when  he  was 
sitting  on  the  high,  revolving  stool  at  the  desk 
in  his  back  office.  This  stool  was  his  throne,  his 
seat  of  power;  from  it  he  ruled  his  kingdom, 
the  country  store;  and  he  unconsciously  took 
on  an  added  straightness  and  even  stiffness 
when  in  this  position  of  vantage. 

By  contrast  the  figure  of  George  Burroughs, 
in  the  low,  leather-seated  arm-chair  facing  him, 
looked  old  and  bent.  The  two  men  were  nearly 
of  the  same  age,  Mr.  Burroughs  being  only  a 
little  the  elder ;  yet  the  difference  in  their  bear 
ing  told  plainly  of  power  and  comparative  suc 
cess  in  the  one  case,  and  of  harder  and  less 
rewarded  work  in  the  other. 

"I  ain't  askin'  ye  to  give  up  the  hull  idee 


4  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

of  havin'  a  shoe-department,"  said  Mr.  Bur 
roughs. 

"It  comes  to  that,"  returned  Mr.  Harney. 

"Why,  no,  it  don't,  Joel,"  expostulated  Mr. 
Burroughs  eagerly.  "There  's  room  in  the 
village  for  another  shoe-place,  likely  enough, 
though  I  Ve  allers  had  most  of  whatever  trade 
there  was.  I  don't  say  it  's  overmuch,  for  I 
have  n't  more  'n  got  a  livin'  out  of  it.  But 
still,  it  ain't  for  me  to  say  that  nobody  else 
shall  sell  shoes  in  Prophet's  Landin'." 

"Well,  no,  I  don't  see  that  it  is,  either, 
George,"  said  Mr.  Harney. 

"All  I  'm  askin'  is  for  ye  not  to  cut  under 
prices,  as  they  say  ye  cal'late  to  do." 

"That  's  asking  more  than  I  can  promise." 

George  Burroughs 's  thin,  worn  face  grew 
very  anxious. 

"I  have  n't  heierd  much  about  it  all,  till  this 
mornin',"  he  said.  "I  stick  to  the  shop  pretty 
close,  day  an'  evenin',  an'  so  I  don't  git  about 
much  an'  hear  the  talk.  But  what  someone 
told  me  to-day  made  me  come  straight  to  you. 
I  knew  that  you  an'  I  c'd  talk  things  over,  ef 
any  two  ol'  friends  could." 

"Certainly  we  can,  George,"  assented  Mr. 
Harney.  "I  'm  glad  you  came  over,  of 
course. ' ' 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME  5 

"Tell  me  jest  what  your  idee  is,"  went  on 
Mr.  Burroughs. 

"Why,  it  's  very  simple.  You  know  the 
store  has  been  branching  out  a  little,  now  and 
then." 

"Yes,  I  Ve  sometimes  said  y'r  father 
would  n't  hardly  know  it  f'r  the  same  plain 
ol '  country  store  that  he  allers  had.  New  lines 
of  fust  one  thing,  then  another,— crockery, 
hardware,  drygoods,  hats,  clo'es,  furniture, 
an'  I  don'  know  what  all.  New  front,  new 
paint,  new  extension,— every  year,  somethin' 
or  other." 

"Well,  yes,  I  Ve  improved  things  a  little,  I 
judge,"  responded  Mr.  Harney,  with  satisfac 
tion.  "Can't  stand  still  in  life,  you  know, 
George,— leastwise,  not  in  the  Connecticut  Val 
ley.  Have  to  move  forward,  or  we  '11  move 
backward. ' ' 

"Mebbe  so,  mebbe  so,"  said  the  other  with 
a  sigh.  "P'r'aps  I  c'd  have  done  the  same 
thing;  though  it  ain't  so  easy  with  jest  shoes 
an'  nothing  else  to  start  with;  an'  besides,  I 
guess  I  hain't  got  your  business  gumption, 
Joel." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  that  it  's  so  much  that.  I 
see  a  chance  to  take  a  step  ahead,  once  in  a 
while,  and  I  take  it,  that  's  all." 


6  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"Well,  that  's  what  gittin'  on  means,-  I 
s'pose,"  commented  Mr.  Burroughs.  "  'T  ain't 
everybody  's  got  the  knack  of  it;  an'  when  a 
man  's  reelly  got  it,  it  's  likely  to  come  out. 
But  about  this  shoe  idee?" 

•"Why,  that  's  just  adding  another  line  of 
goods.  It  had  to  come,  I  suppose,  with  a  store 
like  mine.  It  's  sort  of  come  of  itself." 

"How  d'  ye  mean!" 

"I  mean,  I  was  n't  thinking  of  shoes,— not 
yet  awhile,  anyway;  slow  and  sure,  you  know, 
and  we  've  just  added  that  lean-to  for  paints 
and  oils.  But  this  Boston  firm  of  jobbers  got 
at  me,  and  they  've  been  keeping  at  me.  Fi 
nally  they  made  me  a  proposition  I  really 
could  n't  refuse." 

"My  wholesalers  are  Finch,  Duckworth  & 
Co.,"  said  Mr.  Burroughs.  "They  've  allers 
treated  me  fair  enough;  I  can't  complain." 

"This  is  Ball  &  Brownson,"  Mr.  Harney 
answered.  "I  don't  mind  your  knowing,  of 
course,  George." 

"They  're  big  jobbers,"  said  the  country 
shoe-dealer,  a  little  enviously.  ' '  They  would  n  't 
think  o'  takin'  notice  of  a  little  business  like 
mine. ' ' 

"Well,  of  course  they  know  I  could  handle  a 
fairly  large  line,  if  I  should  go  into  it  at  all. 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME  7 

They  know,  too,  that  our  firm  is  pretty  prompt 
pay." 

"Yes,  I  guess  you  're  a  good  customer, 
Joel,"  answered  George  Burroughs.  "I  can't 
gen 'rally  buy  but  a  case  or  so  at  a  time,  an'  I 
can 't  allers  pay  f  'r  that  in  less  'n  three  months. 
It  gives  you  a  big  holt. ' ' 

"I  suppose  it  does.  I  don't  see  my  way  to 
losing  the  chance." 

"But,  Joel,  they  say  you  're  goin'  to  cut 
under." 

"Why,  yes,"  admitted  Mr.  Harney;  "I  'm 
afraid  that  's  likely." 

"Cuttin'  under  's  cuttin'  out.  I  s'pose  you 
reelize  that." 

"I  don't  want  to  cut  anyone  out,  George. 
Of  course  not.  But —  " 

"But  what?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Joel  Harney 's  counte 
nance,  on  the  street  or  in  his  home,  was  kindly 
enough  in  expression ;  but  in  his  place  of  busi 
ness  it  seemed  to  grow  keener  and  harder.  He 
swung  a  little  way  to  the  side  on  his  high  stool, 
then  swung  back  again;  but  he  said  nothing. 
His  thin  lips,  under  the  closely  clipped,  iron- 
gray  mustache,  were  compressed  with  a  certain 
inexorableness. 

"I  git  precious  little  profit  now,"  went  on 


8  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

George  Burroughs 's  troubled  voice. ' '  I  could  n  't 
cut  my  prices  a  cent  an'  make  any  margin  at 
all.  Even  as  it  is,  ef  it  wa'  n't  f ' r  my  makin'  a 
few  custom  shoes  myself,  an'  doin'  cobblin'  an' 
repairin',  as  well  as  havin'  the  store,  I 
would  n't  git  on." 

"I  daresay  that  's  so,"  assented  the  other. 
11  There  is  n't  much  profit  in  any  one  line  of 
goods  nowadays,  with  the  old-fashioned  meth 
ods." 

"I  hain't  got  the  money  f'r  new-fashioned 
ones,"  said  Mr.  Burroughs,  a  little  bitterly. 
"It  takes  all  I  make  jest  to  live  an'  raise  a 
family. ' ' 

There  was  another  silence. 

"How  much  was  ye  meanin'  to  undersell?" 
inquired  the  shoemaker  at  last. 

"I  don't  call  it  underselling,"  returned  Mr. 
Harney,  a  little  irritably.  "I  buy  low,  and  so  I 
can  sell  low ;  that  's  all. ' ' 

' '  That  is,  ye  can  buy  lower,  an '  so  ye  can  sell 
lower.  That  about  it?" 

"I  am  not  basing  the  thing  on  what  anybody 
else  can  do,  at  all. ' ' 

"But  it  comes  to  that,  don't  it?" 

"I  don't  know  that  it  does." 

"Course  it  does,  Joel.  You  take  my  three- 
dollar  line.  I  pay  Finch,  Duckworth  &  Co., 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME  9 

say,  fifty-two  dollars  a  case,  twenty-four  pairs, 
assorted  sizes.  Freight  to  Wollaston  an'  haul- 
in'  over  here  is  about  fifty-five  cents  more; 
mebbe  fifty,  ef  it  comes  to  Easthaven  an'  is 
lightered  here  across  the  river.  That  leaves 
me  about  eighty  cents  profit  on  each  pair. ' ' 

"That  's  a  fair  per  cent." 

"I  ain't  complainin'  of  that.  But  they  say 
you  're  layin'  out  to  sell  the  same  grade  f'r 
two-seventy-five. ' ' 

"  Yes,  I  figured  on  about  that,— for  a  starter, 
anyway.  I  could  even  make  it  two-fifty,  my 
self,  and  still  almost  find  it  worth  while." 

"I  can't," 

Joel  Harney  said  nothing. 

"It  jest  means  ruination  to  me,  Joel,"  went 
on  Mr.  Burroughs,  his  voice  trembling  a  little. 
"I  hain't  ever  had  to  ask  favors  of  any  man; 
I  Ve  got  along,  thanks  to  hard  work;  an'  you 
can't  think  how  tough  it  is  to  seem  to  be  askin' 
any  favors  now.  An'  I  ain't.  I  ain't  tryin'  to 
keep  ye  out  o'  the  shoe  business.  It  's  open  to 
one  person  as  much  as  to  another,  I  reckon. 
I  'm  only  askin'  ye  to  let  me  stay  in." 

"Why,  George,"  protested  Mr.  Harney, 
"I  'm  not  seeking  to  put  you  out." 

"Course  you  '11  git  a  good  many  customers 
that  I  Ve  allers  had,  even  ef  ye  sell  at  the  same 


10  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

prices.  I  ain't  grudgin'  ye  that.  I  can  keep 
enough  to  git  on  with,  I  jedge.  But,  Joel,  ef  ye 
start  to  sellin'  cheaper  than  I  can  afford  to, 
why,  I  won't  keep  any.  That  stands  to 
reason." 

"I  tell  you,  I  'm  not  figuring  on  either  over 
selling  or  underselling  you,  George,"  declared 
Joel  impatiently.  "I  find  I  can  buy  goods  at  a 
certain  price,  sell  at  a  certain  price,  and  make 
a  profit.  It  's  no  concern  of  mine  whether 
others  can  do  the  same  or  not.  The  customer 
gets  the  benefit.  You  forget  where  the  cus 
tomer  comes  in." 

"I  ain't  thinkin'  two  chaws  of  terbacker 
about  the  customer,"  declared  Mr.  Burroughs 
candidly;  "an'  you  ain't,  either,  Joel,  an'  you 
know  it.  Ef  I  could  git  three-twenty-five  out 
of  him  for  that  three-dollar  line,  f 'r  instance, 
I  'd  charge  three-twenty-five  quicker  'n  a  wink. 
But  then  he  'd  jest  go  to  Wollaston,  or  across 
to  Easthaven,  an'  buy  there.  So  I  can't  sell 
any  dearer.  An'  I  can't  buy  any  cheaper,  as 
fur  as  I  know. ' ' 

''Well,  you  see,  I  can." 

"An'  so  ye  're  goin'  to  crowd  me  out?" 

"Why  do  you  keep  bringing  it  back  to  you, 
all  the  time?"  inquired  Mr.  Harney  testily. 
' '  You  say  my  business  '11  interfere  with  yours. 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME  11 

Well,  I  can't  help  that.  I  judge  you  interfere 
some  with  old  Jesse  Grimshaw.  He  was  cob 
bling  away  here  when  you  were  growing  up  on 
the  farm,  and  I  was  a  little  shaver.  He  did  n't 
do  any  better  after  you  opened  shop,  I  take  it. ' ' 

"I  charge  the  same  prices  f 'r  makin'  an'  re- 
pairin'  that  he  does,"  argued  Mr.  Burroughs, 
a  little  taken  aback  by  thus  having  the  war  car 
ried  into  his  own  country.  "The  village  has 
grown  sence  Jesse  was  young.  There  was  room 
f'r  another.  Jesse  's  allers  made  a  livin' 
sence,  same  as  I  have. ' ' 

"Well  now  I  guess  there  's  room  for  a 
third." 

"But  this  ain't  the  same,"  began  the  other 
earnestly.  "Don't  you  see  that  ef  you— 

Mr.  Harney  got  down  from  his  chair,  and 
reached  for  his  hat. 

1  i  'Most  one, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Time  to  be  getting 
home  to  dinner. ' ' 

* '  But  how  about  this  matter,  Joel  ?  It  means 
a  good  deal  to  me,  I  can  tell  ye. ' ' 

"I  don't  want  to  interfere  with  your  trade, 
George,— nor  with  anybody's.  But  I  can't  see 
why  I  should  throw  up  a  profitable  opening 
just  because  it  may  hurt  somebody  else's  sales 
a  little.  Business  is  business." 

"Friendship  is  friendship,  too;   remember 


12  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

that, ' '  urged  the  shoemaker.  ' '  You  an '  I  was 
boys  together,  ef  I  was  a  leetle  older  'n  you. 
An'  we  Ve  been  men  together,— an'  neighbors 
an'  friends  an'  church  members,  an'  our 
families,  too;  an'  our  fathers  b'fore  us. 
Don't  that  count  f'r  anythinT' 

" Business  is  business,"  repeated  Mr.  Har- 
ney  obdurately.  1 1  If  I  don 't  take  up  this  offer 
of  Ball  &  Brownson,  they  '11  put  it  to  somebody 
else.  You  and  I  are  just  as  good  friends  as 
ever;  you  know  that." 

" Won't  ye  think  it  over  a  little  more?" 
pleaded  the  elder  man. 

"Why,  yes,  I  '11  go  over  it  again  with  my 
head  clerk,  and  see  if  we  can  do  anything.  But 
I  can't  make  you  any  promises." 

Mr.  Harney  was  standing,  hat  in  hand,  wait 
ing  to  go,  and  Mr.  Burroughs  now  rose  heavily. 

"Looks  some  like  snow  ag'in,  don't  it?" 
he  said,  with  a  brave  attempt  at  lightness  of 
speech.  ' '  Guess  I  '11  have  to  be  rubbin '  up  my 
sleigh-runners."  He  passed  out  through  the 
store,  and  into  the  village  street. 

As  Joel  Harney  himself  went  out,  a  minute 
later,  he  was  deep  in  thought;  and  as  he  took 
his  seat  at  the  midday  dinner  at  home,  he  was 
still  silent  and  preoccupied,  though  the  keen, 
steely,  business-like  expression  had  strangely 
left  his  face. 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME  13 

"Ma  's  had  a  letter  from  Olive,  pa,"  re 
marked  Josie,  the  younger  daughter. 

"That  so?"  said  her  father,  interested  at 
once.  ' '  When  does  she  expect  to  get  here  ? ' ' 

' '  Next  week  Tuesday.  That  's  two  days  be 
fore  Thanksgiving,  and  she  does  n  't  have  to  go 
back  till  Monday.  Is  n't  it  nice?" 

"So  we  '11  have  her  with  us  for  six  days, 
Joel,"  put  in  Mrs.  Harney. 

"Could  n't  be  nicer,"  agreed  her  husband 
heartily.  "Boarding-school  is  all  very  well, 
but  I  must  say  I  'm  glad  it  's  only  for  one 
year. ' ' 

"I  guess  you  miss  Olive  as  much  as  the  rest 
of  us  do,"  observed  Mrs.  Harney  good- 
humoredly. 

' '  Miss  her  ?  I  should  think  I  did ! ' '  said  Mr. 
Harney,  who  was  devoted  to  all  of  his  family. 
' '  Who  would  n 't  miss  Olive  1  What  time  is  she 
coming?" 

"The  train  gets  to  Wollaston  at  3.10.  You  '11 
have  to  meet  her  in  the  buggy,— or  you  might 
take  the  rockaway,  and  we  '11  all  drive  over 
and  surprise  her." 

"I  've  got  a  better  idea  yet, ' '  Mr.  Harney  re 
joined,  as  interested  as  any  of  them.  "It  seems 
likely  to  snow  again  to-night  or  to-morrow; 
and  if  there  's  enough  of  it  to  last,  this  time, 


14  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

we  can  hitch  up  the  big  sleigh,  and  give  her  a 
sleigh-ride. ' ' 

''That  '11  be  jolly,"  cried  Josie  enthusiasti 
cally.  "Remember  our  last  sleigh-ride,  pa!" 

' '  I  guess  I  do ! "  declared  her  father.  ' '  When 
you  had  the  reins,  and  turned  that  corner  too 
sharp.  Lucky  it  was  only  a  soft  drift  that  you 
spilled  us  into ! ' ' 

''It  was  the  first  time  you  'd  tried  the  new 
brown  ponies,"  protested  Josie.  "How  was  I 
to  know  all  their  tricks  ? ' ' 

"Pa,  can  I  have  a  new  sled?"  queried  Jay, 
who  was  eight.  "I  've  had  mine  three  years, 
and  it  's  too  slow  anyway. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  guess  you  're  entitled  to  a  new  one, 
this  fall.  We  're  expecting  some  at  the  store  in 
a  few  days,  and  I  should  n't  wonder  if  one 
of  'em  would  be  about  your  size." 

"I  '11  sell  mine  to  Timmie  Burroughs,"  said 
Jay  with  satisfaction.  "He  says  his  pa  can't 
give  him  one,  this  year,  and  if  I  '11  sell  him 
mine,  he  '11  pay  me  thirty-seven  cents  he  's  got 
saved  up. ' ' 

"Well,  Jay,  you  give  him  the  sled  free,  and 
I  '11  pay  you  the  thirty-seven  cents  myself," 
his  father  rejoined.  "I  guess  Timmie  does  n't 
have  any  too  much  spending-money. ' ' 

4  *  He  's  been  ever  since  last  summer  saving  it 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME  15 

up,"  Jay  said.  " There  's  lots  of  things  he 
wanted,  but  he  wanted  a  sled  most. ' ' 

"Well,  now  he  can  get  one  of  the  other 
things  too."  Mr.  Harney  spoke  a  little  ab 
sently,  as  if  something  in  the  talk  had  set  him 
thinking  again. 

"Susan  Burroughs  was  over  here,  this 
morning,"  observed  Mrs.  Harney,  following 
her  husband  into  the  front  hall  after  dinner. 

"What  did  she  want?"  inquired  he,  putting 
on  his  overcoat.  "To  talk  over  that  church 
missionary  matter?  I  suppose  you  told  her 
we  'd  agreed  to  give  five  dollars  extra,  this 
year. ' ' 

"Yes,  she  said  it  was  very  generous  of  you. 
But  that  was  n't  what  she  came  for.  It  was 
about  George  and  you.  She  said  they  'd  heard 
that  you  were  going  to  open  a  line  of  shoes  at 
the  store,  and  she  was  afraid  it  would  hurt  his 
trade  terribly.  I  told  her  I  had  n  't  heard  any 
thing  about  it,  one  way  or  the  other." 

It  had  never  been  Joel's  habit  to  take  his 
wife  into  his  confidence  regarding  business 
matters. 

' '  Yes,  we  're  going  to  try  it  a  little, ' '  he  said. 
"I  don't  want  to  interfere  with  George,  of 
course." 

"But  won't  it?"  asked  his  wife  anxiously. 


16  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"He  thinks  it  's  going  to,"  lie  admitted. 
' '  He  was  in  at  the  store  this  morning  to  see  me 
about  it. ' ' 

"Joel,  you  would  n't  let  it,  would  you?" 
asked  Mrs.  Harney.  ' '  We  Ve  got  plenty  now, 
and  the  store  's  doing  splendidly  just  as  it  is. 
We  don 't  want  to  harm  anybody  else. ' ' 

' '  Of  course  not.  But  the  store  's  growing  all 
the  time.  I  can 't  afford  to  hold  it  back. ' ' 

"Why,  we  don't  need  any  more  money  than 
we  have, ' '  said  his  wife  simply. 

Joel  smiled.  "Have  we  got  too  much?"  he 
demanded. 

"No,  not  a  cent.  What  with  two  servants 
now,  and  Olive  at  school,  and  the  new  ponies, 
and  all." 

"Well,  three  years  ago,  before  I  added  that 
big  extension  for  clothing  and  drygoods,  we 
did  n't  have  nearly  as  much,  and  you  said  we 
had  enough  then. ' ' 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  mused  Mrs.  Har 
ney.  "We  do  seem  to  be  spending  more." 

"Then  I  Ve  got  to  provide  more,"  he  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"But  we  don't  want  to  take  anybody  else's 
living,"  argued  she. 

"I  don't  say  we  're  going  to.  Certainly  no 
one  wants  to  do  that.  But  I  can't  keep  my 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME  17 

business  back  on  every  side  for  fear  of  some 
body  else  losing  a  dollar." 

' '  What  will  you  do  about  George  ? ' ' 

' '  Well,  I  've  been  thinking  it  over,  and  I  have 
an  idea  that  may  help  to  settle  it.  I  'm  going  to 
see  him  now ' ' ;  and  Mr.  Harney  kissed  his  wife 
affectionately,  and  went  out,  walking  briskly  to 
his  friend's  unpretending  shoe-store. 

"George,"  he  said,  "my  head  clerk,  Thorn 
ton,  's  a  first-rate  fellow,  but  he  can't  be  every 
where.  No  more  can  Joe  and  Harry.  When 
we  add  that  new  line  of  shoes,  as  we  expect, 
we  '11  need  more  help.  Now  what  do  you  say  to 
giving  up  here,  and  coming  over  to  take  charge 
of  the  shoe  part  of  the  business?" 

Mr.  Burroughs,  who  was  waxing  thread, 
looked  up,  much  startled. 

''Who,  me?"  he  asked. 

' '  Yes.  That  would  arrange  things  very  well, 
T  think." 

"Go  over  there  an'  be  clerk?"  repeated 
George  Burroughs. 

"That  's  the  idea." 

' '  An '  give  up  this  store  I ' ' 

"I  '11  take  the  stock  off  your  hands." 

The  shoemaker  slowly  grasped  the  proposi 
tion.  His  face,  usually  gentle,  grew  hard,  and 
when  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  indignant. 


18  PROPHET'S    LANDING 

"See  here,  Joel  Harney,"  he  said;  "you 
don'  know  what  you  're  sayin'.  I  've  been  in 
dependent  all  my  days,  even  ef  I  have  n  't  made 
much  more  'n  a  livin ' ;  an '  I  ain  't  goin '  to  be 
come  anybody's  hired  clerk  at  my  time  o'  life, 
—not  ef  I  have  to  work  twenty  hours,  instead 
o'  twelve." 

"You  need  n't  take  it  that  way,"  said  the 
other,  rather  astonished  at  this  outburst  from 
one  so  usually  meek.  ' '  I  came  in  to  make  you  a 
friendly  proposition,  after  what  we  were  talk 
ing  over,  this  morning. ' ' 

"Well,  I  don't  want  it." 

"You  won't  have  any  reason  to  complain 
of  the  wages,  I  think;  or  the  hours,  or  any 
thing.  I  always  believe  in  treating  my  clerks 
liberally. ' ' 

"  'T  ain't  the  wages !"  Mr.  Burroughs  burst 
out,  rising  from  his  bench  in  his  excitement. 
"It  's  your  pay  in'  me  wages,  Joel  Harney,— 
you  an'  I,  that  's  been  boys  together,  an'  grown 
up  man  an'  man,  an'  neither  of  us  beholden  to 
anybody.  Think  I  'd  like  to  take  wages  from 
you?  Think  I  'd  relish  bein'  known  as  one 
o'  your  clerks?— or  anybody's  clerk  in  Proph 
et's  Landin'?" 

' '  I  don 't  see  why  you— ' ' 

"How  would  you  like  it  yourself!     S'pose 


THE  RIGOR  OF  THE  GAME  19 

your  store  had  n't  got  on,  an'  mine  had,  would 
ye  be  willin'  to  come  here  as  clerk?" 

Mr.  Harney's  refuge  in  argument  was 
usually  silence  and  a  growing  anger.  He  said 
nothing. 

' '  I  guess  not ! ' '  went  on  the  shoemaker,  now 
fully  aroused.  "An' I  ain't,  either.  How  would 
I  feel,  goin'  home  an'  tellin'  Susan  an'  the 
boy  that  I  was  goin'  to  clerk  it  f 'r  Joel  Har- 
ney  1  No,  sir !  I  may  be  druv  to  it,  some  day, 
but  I  ain't  there  yit,  an'  I  pray  God  I  '11  never 
git  to  be!" 

Mr.  Harney  turned,  and  put  his  hand  on  the 
knob  of  the  shop  door. 

' '  I  came  with  a  fair  offer,  George, ' '  he  curtly 
said.  "I  Ve  done  all  I  could.  After  this,  you 
can't  expect— " 

"I  don't  expect  nothin',"  said  Mr.  Bur 
roughs.  ' '  I  was  a  fool  to  expect  anythin '  in  the 
fust  place.  I  don't  care  what  ye  do  now,  Joel 
Harney."  The  shoemaker  sat  down  with  a 
bump  on  his  bench,  and  picking  up  his  thread, 
began  to  jerk  it  violently  through  the  yellow 
wax.  "You  jest  go  ahead  an'  sell  what  you 
like." 

' '  I  expect  to, ' '  said  his  visitor  briefly,  and  he 
left  the  shop. 

' '  Thornton, ' '  he  said  to  his  assistant,  as  he 


20  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

entered  his  own  store,  "have  you  had  the  ship 
ping-bill  for  those  cases  of  shoes  yet?" 

"It  came  in  the  noon  mail,  sir.  The  cases 
are  due  to  arrive  next  week. ' ' 

"That  ought  to  give  us  a  good  December 
trade,"  said  the  employer.  "You  work  out 
the  retail  reductions,  as  we  arranged,  and  put  a 
notice  in  Saturday 's  paper. ' ' 


II 


THE  LANDING 

WHEN  old  Jacob  Harney  had  breathed 
his  last,  fifteen  years  before,  no  one 
had  had  aught  to  say  of  him  but  good.  He  had 
lived  and  had  died  in  the  little  Connecticut 
River  village  where  he  had  been  born ;  his  life 
and  walk  had  been  an  open  page  to  all  who  knew 
him,  and  they  had  read  it  with  approval  and  af 
fection.  A  full  half  century  before  his  death, 
he  had  started  the  modest  country  store  in  the 
little  hamlet ;  it  grew  as  the  hamlet  grew,  which 
was  but  slowly,  and  it  had  served  honestly  and 
faithfully  the  needs  of  the  quiet  community, 
while  yielding  an  honorable  living  to  its  owner. 
Jacob  Harney  had  not  been  progressive.  He 
had  had  no  desire  to  be.  Things  flowed  tran 
quilly  on  as  they  were ;  why  should  he  venture 
on  unknown  courses?  At  the  end  of  the  half 
century,  the  little  red  frame  store,  save  for  a 
few  slight  and  necessary  changes  and  better- 

21 


22  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

merits,  looked  almost  exactly  as  it  had  looked 
on  the  morning  when  Jacob  had  first  opened  its 
doors  to  business.  The  flour  barrels  stood  in 
precisely  the  same  corner  as  then;  the  hams 
hung  from  the  same  row  of  hooks  over  the  rear 
counter,  the  bins  of  white  and  brown  sugar  and 
the  japanned  boxes  for  coffee  and  tea  remained 
just  behind  that  counter,  and  the  dim,  cob 
webby  window  at  the  back  still  let  the  light 
upon  the  high,  narrow,  leather-topped  desk 
where  the  old  man  kept  his  simple  books.  In 
his  latter  years,  the  sign  over  the  door  had 
been  changed.  Joel,  the  son,  after  a  good 
country  schooling,  and  a  year  or  two  of  prac 
tical  clerkship  with  a  Boston  retailer,  had 
joined  his  father  in  the  store,  and  after  a  few 
years  had  been  taken  into  partnership ;  so  the 
sign  was  changed  from  "Jacob  Harney"  to 
"J.  Harney  &  Son." 

' '  That  '11  hold  good  through  your  lifetime  as 
well  as  mine,  Joel,  both  bein'  J.  Harney," 
chuckled  the  old  man,  who  had  a  gift  of  gentle 
humor.  "So  the  firm  '11  save  on  signs  for  a 
long  while  ahead. ' ' 

Joel  had  fallen  in  entirely  with  his  father's 
ways  at  the  store.  The  older  man,  despite  his 
innate  gentleness,  had  a  certain  authority  of 
manner,  and  the  son  never  dreamed  of  dis- 


THE  LANDING  23 

puting  with  him  nor  of  altering  long  standing 
arrangements.  Whatever  unsuspected  initiative 
he  himself  possessed  was  entirely  in  abeyance 
during  his  father's  lifetime.  He  married,  and 
settled  down  in  the  old  home,  and  the  store 
yielded  him  a  living,  as  it  was  yielding  his 
father. 

The  village,  known  by  the  curious  and  strik 
ing  name  of  Prophet's  Landing,  lay  on  the 
river's  edge,  three  miles  from  Wollaston  and 
the  railroad,  in  a  good  farming  and  to 
bacco  district.  Two  hundred  years  before,  a 
band  of  pioneers,  breaking  westward  through 
the  forests  which  hedged  in  the  Massachusetts 
colonies,  had  come  to  the  broad,  peaceful  Con 
necticut,  and  had  crossed  it  to  settle  in  this 
pleasant  nook  on  its  bank.  These  settlers  were 
different  in  one  particular  from  most  of  the 
bands  who,  during  that  period,  were  blazing 
their  way  westward  from  the  Massachusetts 
coast  or  northward  from  the  Sound.  Those 
bands  were  simply  homeseekers;  this  little 
group  was  under  the  spell  of  a  potent  religious 
leadership.  Village  history  pointed  backward 
to  the  founder  as  a  "prophet,"— a  dim,  mystic 
personage,  concerning  whom  few  authentic  de 
tails  had  come  down  to  later  times,  yet  whose 
figure,  tall,  lean  and  white-bearded,  stood  out 


24  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

sharply  and  ineffaceably  in  the  traditions  of 
the  community.  It  was  an  era  of  religious 
credulity  and  enthusiasm ;  and  one  can  picture 
a  strong,  virile  personality,  imbued  with  a 
"call"  and  the  spirit  of  prophecy,  collecting 
about  him  a  knot  of  believing  adherents,  and 
leading  them  into  the  wilderness  to  found  a 
new  and  separate  settlement  holy  unto  the 
Lord. 

"Prophet's  Landing,"  his  followers  had 
reverently  named  the  site  he  chose;  and  the 
fact  that  the  seer  had  left  behind  him  a  single 
line  of  descendants  until  this  day,— son  suc 
ceeding  son,  unto  now  the  fifth  generation,— 
preserved  the  tradition  with  the  name.  Over 
on  the  Point,  a  little  to  the  north  of  the  present 
village,  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  Har- 
ney  store,  there  was  at  this  time  living  an  old 
man,  tall,  lean,  white-bearded,  like  his  ancestor 
of  yore,  and  claiming  the  same  afflatus.  It  was 
related  that  all  of  the  line  had  had  the  Scrip 
tural  gift  of  prophecy.  For  the  most  part, 
they  were  silent  men;  but  in  times  of  great 
local  stress  or  national  emergency,  they  would 
break  out  into  impassioned  and  fervid  speech. 
At  such  epochs,  all  the  countryside  flocked  to 
hear,  and  despite  the  growing  religious  skep 
ticism  of  the  later  eras,  their  words  invariably 
made  a  wide  and  powerful  impression. 


THE  LANDING  25 

The  old  founder's  son  had  sounded  the 
alarm,  in  the  unsettled  times  of  the  Indian 
wars ;  rousing  the  settlers  and  the  neighboring 
communities  more  than  once  to  rise  and  com 
bine  against  impending  peril;  incidentally 
scoring  their  sins,  and,  like  some  modern  Jere 
miah,  urging  them  to  repentance,  under  pen 
alty  of  impending  wrath.  The  son  of  this  son, 
in  turn  grown  old,  had,  in  the  troublous  times 
preceding  the  Revolution,  broken  his  silence  in 
stirring  words  of  counsel  and  cheer,  inciting  all 
who  heard  him  to  strike  for  national  indepen 
dence  while  the  opportunity  so  gloriously  of 
fered.  From  time  to  time  in  later  periods,  in 
the  strange  excitement  of  the  Millerite  move 
ment,  in  the  financial  stress  and  suffering 
caused  by  the  money  panics  of  '37  and  '57,  in 
epochs  of  religious  revival,  and  above  all,  when 
the  taking  up  of  arms  against  the  South  was 
preached  throughout  New  England  as  a  holy 
crusade,  a  voice  from  Prophet's  Landing  made 
itself  heard— and  heeded. 

It  was  the  descendant  now  living  who 
had  cried  out  so  powerfully  against  slavery 
and  disunion  before  them  all;  and  when 
his  words  and  those  of  countless  other 
orators  and  leaders  had  done  their  work, 
when  the  North  was  at  last  aroused  and  armed 
and  had  stood  up  in  its  great  strength,  then  the 


26  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

old  man  had  relapsed  into  his  wonted  silence 
and  gone  simply  back  to  his  daily  work.  That 
had  happened  a  dozen  years  ago,  and  already 
a  generation  was  coming  upon  the  stage  to 
whom  these  things  were  only  traditions,  and 
who  looked  upon  the  venerable  individual  on 
the  Point  perhaps  more  with  curiosity  than 
with  awe.  Men  like  Joel  Harney  and  George 
Burroughs  of  course  remembered  well  the 
strong  part  he  had  played.  They  themselves 
had  gone  to  the  front  in  the  last  years  of  the 
war,  when  the  need  of  men  grew  great;  and 
they  were  not  likely  to  forget  the  first  voice 
raised  to  urge  them  on.  But  they  and  others 
now  looked  upon  the  stern  old  enthusiast  as 
one  whose  mission  was  ended.  Those  fierce 
and  fearful  times  were  past;  the  land  and  the 
world  were  now  at  peace,  and  there  seemed  no 
likelihood  that  the  prophet,  if  prophet  he  was, 
would  ever  have  need  in  their  lifetime  to  open 
his  lips  again  in  exhortation  and  appeal. 

No  one  knew  the  original  founder's  name, 
but  his  son  and  those  coming  after  him  had  al 
ways  accepted  that  of  Potter,— a  name  derived 
from  their  trade.  Potters  they  were,  the  pres 
ent  descendant  like  the  rest.  The  old  man 
mixed  his  own  clay  and  turned  his  own  wheel, 
and  painted  and  fired  his  own  wares,  as  his 


THE  LANDING  27 

great-great-grandfather  had  done.  It  might  be 
thought  that  his  primitive  methods  would  long 
ago  have  been  superseded  by  modern  machin 
ery  and  manufacture.  But  there  was  a  certain 
strong,  quaint  individuality,  even  a  beauty,  of 
form  and  line  and  color,  in  his  pitchers  and 
jars  and  bowls  and  vases,  which  gave  them  al 
ways  a  steady  though  restricted  sale.  Boston, 
Albany  and  even  New  York  sent  to  buy  of  him, 
collectors  prizing  his  specimens  far  above  the 
ordinary;  so  that  he  feared  no  rival,  and 
dreaded  no  reverses,  feeling  "secure  in  the 
work  of  his  hands." 

Thus  old  Elder  Potter  (for  so  he  was  always 
called,  though  he  would  hold  no  church  office,) 
lived  his  quiet  life  on  the  Point.  His  wife,  and 
his  son,  who  was  yet  a  boy,  made  up  the  little 
family.  And  the  village  which  his  forebear 
had  founded  grew  and  thrived  within  his  sight. 

Jacob  Harney  died,  and  Joel  came  into  full 
possession  of  home  and  store.  For  a  time,  no 
changes  were  made  in  either.  But  Joel  had  in 
him  something  which  his  f  athe:1  had  not ;  some 
thing  which  had  lain  dormant  during  the 
senior's  lifetime,  and  of  which  he  himself  had 
scarcely  been  aware, -the  gift  of  business  en 
terprise.  He  was  a  man  who,  entrusted  with 
ten  talents,  could  not  but  have  returned  ten 


28  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

talents  more;  and  with  one,  would  assuredly 
not  have  hidden  it  in  a  napkin.  Slowly  changes, 
improvements,  began  to  be  made  about  the 
familiar  red  store,— changes  that  often  seemed 
almost  impiouSj  disregardful  of  the  memory  of 
the  dead  Jacob,  who  had  loved  every  beam  in 
the  unpretending  old  place ;  who  had  dictated, 
a  half  century  before,  where  the  molasses  bar 
rel  should  stand,  and  where  the  butter-tubs, 
and  had  never  deviated  from  those  arrange 
ments.  Joel  moved  at  first  with  reluctance, 
impelled,  he  scarce  knew  why,  to  alter  this  de 
tail  and  extend  that  line  of  stock ;  but  gradually 
he  began  to  feel  his  powers,  and  forthwith 
there  ensued  a  period  of  marked  growth.  Mrs. 
Harney  was  no  business  woman,  but  she  had 
something  of  the  same  progressiveness  in  re 
gard  to  their  home ;  and  so,  year  by  year,  store 
and  home  were  improved,  more  money  came  in, 
and  new  comforts  were  added,  until  the  Har- 
neys  were  now  far  the  richest  family  in  the 
little  place,  and  their  possessions  still  kept  on 
increasing. 

A  subtle  change  was  noticeable  in  Joel  him 
self.  In  his  father's  lifetime  he  had  been  quiet 
and  retiring;  a  little  deprecatory  in  manner, 
one  would  have  said,  the  natural  habit  of  one 
whose  ancestors  had  been  trained  in  compara- 


THE  LANDING  29 

live  poverty  and  the  steady  press  of  gaining  a 
living.  Now  there  was  noticeable  a  certain 
erectness  of  carriage,  a  slightly  more  inde 
pendent  manner  with  his  neighbors  and 
friends,  more  care  in  regard  to  dress  and  out 
ward  appearance.  The  man  meant  to  develop 
with  his  surroundings;  at  least>  he  was  so  de 
veloping,  whether  consciously  or  not,  and 
whether  along  the  best  lines  or  not.  His  kind 
liness  of  heart,  well  inherited,  seemed  unim 
paired  ;  he  gave  to  charity  with  scrupulous  and 
increasing  liberality  as  his  means  increased; 
but  it  was  perhaps  more  with  the  air  of  confer 
ring  a  favor  than  formerly.  A  strange,  in 
toxicating  sense  of  power  was  imperceptibly 
taking  hold  upon  him.  He  was  acquiring  the 
knowledge  that  he  was  no  longer  one  among  his 
unpretending  neighbors,  steady,  ungifted,  with 
the  need  to  struggle  as  they;  but  that  he  had 
abilities  and  possibilities  which  in  a  sense  set 
him  above  them  and  which  might  in  time  bring 
him  to  face  a  still  larger  community  and  rise  in 
it.  That  wonderful  sense  of  the  power  to  ac 
complish!  How  it  takes  hold  upon  those  who 
once  disclose  it  to  themselves  and  to  others; 
what  unguessed  changes  it  silently  works  for 
good  or  ill  within  their  breasts ! 

So  it  was  that  Joel  was  scarcely  aware  of  an 


30 

alteration  in  himself  which  kept  step  with  the 
alteration  in  his  outward  circumstances;  and 
in  so  far  as  he  was  aware  of  it,  he  had  at 
tempted  no  analysis  of  the  question  whither  it 
might  lead  him. 


ni 


ON  THE  POINT 

'TT1HERE  's  Olive!  I  see  her,"  cried  Josie 
J-  delightedly,  as  the  train  drew  into  Wollas- 
ton  station,  and  the  eager  group  on  the  plat 
form  scanned  the  car-windows. 

"Hullo,  Ollie!"  shouted  Jay  excitedly. 
' '  Here  we  all  are ! ' ' 

' '  H-s-s-sh ! ' '  reproved  his  mother,  putting  a 
vainly  silencing  hand  on  his  shoulder,  while  she 
waved  the  other  at  the  girlish  figure  making  its 
way  out  through  the  car.  ' '  Everybody  '11  hear 
you,  Jay. ' ' 

"Well,  let  'em  hear,  ma,"  put  in  Mr.  Harney 
cheerfully.  "It  is  n't  any  secret,  you  know; 
and  it  is  n't  often  we  get  a  daughter  home  from 
boarding-school,"  and  he  nodded  and  waved 
with  the  rest. 

' l  There  she  comes !  I  'm  going  to  grab  her 
first,"  cried  Jay,  breaking  away  from  his 
mother's  detaining  hand  and  rushing  toward 

31 


32  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

the  car-steps.  "How  d'  ye  do,  01?  There  's 
the  others. ' ' 

*  *  Yes,  I  see  them, ' '  laughed  the  girl  happily, 
as  she  stepped  down  to  the  platform  and  gave 
her  youthful  brother  a  hug  and  squeeze.  ' '  How 
nice  it  just  is  to  get  back !  Well,  Josie ! "  as  her 
sister  pressed  toward  her.  ' ;  And  mother !  and 
father ! ' '  She  kissed  each  one  in  turn. 

"We  all  came  over  in  the  sleigh,"  went  on 
Jay,  with  a  boy's  eagerness  to  tell  the  news. 
"And  Six-Toe  's  got  four  little  kittens,  and 
there  is  n't  any  more  school  till  Monday,  and 
I  'm  going  to  have  a  new  sled. ' ' 

' '  Mercy !  What  a  lot  of  interesting  things ! 
And  how  well  you  all  look.  Oh,  it  's  so  good  to 
be  home.  Dear  mother!"  She  patted  her 
mother 's  cheek  affectionately. 

"You  're  looking  well,  too,  Ollie,"  said  Mr. 
Harney,  beaming  paternally  on  her.  "Did  you 
have  a  pleasant  car-ride?" 

"Oh,  lovely.  It  did  n't  seem  three  hours  at 
all.  I  had  a  seat  to  myself,  and  kept  looking 
out  of  the  window,  the  whole  way  here.  Every 
thing  looks  so  beautiful  and  fresh,  covered  with 
this  new  snow. ' ' 

"There  's  going  to  be  an  entertainment, 
Thursday  evening,"  announced  Jay;  "and 
1  'm  going  to  help  take  tickets  at  the  door. ' ' 


ON  THE  POINT  33 

"Jay  's  growing  up,  you  see,"  commented 
his  father  amusedly. 

' '  I  should  think  so ! "  assented  Olive.  ' '  What 
sort  of  entertainment,  Jay  1  Where  is  it  to  be  ? " 

' '  Come,  come,  there  '11  be  plenty  of  time  to 
talk  about  these  things  by  and  by.  We  're 
going  to  take  you  for  a  ride,  Ollie,  around  by 
the  Haines'  Woods  road,  on  the  way  home." 

"Yes,  let  's  get  in,"  chimed  in  Josie  joy 
ously.  * '  The  ponies  hate  to  stand. ' ' 

"It  's  in  Lyceum  Hall,  and  it  's  given  by  the 
Young  People's  Union,"  continued  Jay,  stur 
dily  resolved  to  finish  his  subject ;  "and  you  're 
to  play,  and  Steve  Baird  and  Mr.  Thornton  are 
going  to  sing,  and —  " 

1 1  There,  Jay,  there  won 't  be  any  news  left, ' ' 
cut  in  his  father  good-humoredly.  ' '  Take  your 
sister's  bag  and  umbrella,  and  we  '11  get  in." 

Still  all  talking  busily,  they  stowed  them 
selves  snugly  in  the  big  sleigh,  and  the  ponies 
danced  off  over  the  crisp  snow,  the  bells  jin 
gling  merrily. 

' '  Are  we  going  to  have  a  nice  Thanksgiving, 
mamma  ? ' '  queried  the  newcomer,  nestling  con 
tentedly  to  her  mother's  side. 

' '  Bully, ' '  interjected  Jay.  ' '  Aunt  Sadie  and 
the  boys  are  coming  over  from  here,  and  Mr. 
Thornton  's  coming,  and— ' ' 


34  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

''Jay!"  said  his  father,  turning  around  im 
peratively. 

The  boy  subsided. 

1 l  The  trouble  is, ' '  said  Josie,  from  the  front 
seat  with  her  father,  "we  all  want  to  talk  at 
once. ' ' 

"I  have  n't  told  her  half  the  things,"  ob 
served  Jay,  in  an  aggrieved  tone. 

"Nor  I,"  retorted  Josie.  "I  Ve  hardly  got 
a  word  in  edgeways." 

' '  That  's  unusual  for  you,  Jo,  dear, ' '  teased 
her  sister,  laughing. 

"Oh,  I  '11  make  up  for  it,  never  fear,"  re 
turned  the  younger  girl  promptly.  "But  I 
think  it  's  ma's  turn  just  now." 

"Well,  we  are  going  to  have  a  pleasant 
Thanksgiving,  I  think, ' '  resumed  Mrs.  Harney, 
pulling  the  buffalo-rug  higher  around  Olive 
and  Jay  at  her  side.  "Your  aunt  and  the  boys 
are  coming,  as  Jay  says ;  and  Uncle  Hart  and 
Auntie  and  Fan ;  and  the  minister  and  his  wife ; 
and  we  Ve  asked  Mr.  Thornton  too." 

1 1  What  did  you  ask  him  for  I ' '  inquired  Olive 
impulsively.  ' '  I  don 't  like  him. ' ' 

"I  asked  him,  Olive,"  said  her  father  with 
deliberation.  "Albert  Thornton  's  a  fine  young 
fellow.  I  consider  him  the  best  clerk  I  Ve  ever 
had.  He  's  bound  to  get  on. ' ' 


ON  THE  POINT  35 

' '  I  don 't  like  him, ' '  repeated  the  girl. 

"Why  not?" 

' '  I  don 't  know.  I  don 't  trust  him,  somehow. ' ' 

11  You  don't  know  him,  that  's  all,"  answered 
Mr.  Harney.  * '  He  '11  be  a  rich  man  before  he 
dies." 

' '  I  don 't  see  what  that  's  got  to  do  with  it, ' ' 
returned  Olive  rebelliously.  "He  never  looks 
a  person  straight  in  the  face,  and  he  never  says 
things  till  he  's  thought  them  all  out,  and—  " 

"A  very  good  trait,"  commented  Joel  Har 
ney,  giving  the  horses  a  light  flick  with  the 
whip  which  sent  them  ahead  in  a  long,  exhilara 
ting  stride.  "I  'm  in  hopes  you  and  he  '11  get 
better  acquainted  as  time  goes  on. ' ' 

Olive  made  no  reply,  and  the  talk  turned  to 
other  topics.  They  spun  along  the  hard,  white 
country  roads,  taking  a  wide  circuit  which  fi 
nally  brought  them  toward  the  home  village 
from  the  northwest.  The  keenly  blue  waters  of 
the  river  gleamed  not  far  off.  As  they  turned 
south  into  the  river-road,  a  light  cutter  was 
seen  approaching  them.  The  young  man  driv 
ing  waved  a  hilarious  greeting  as  he  neared 
them. 

"Glad  to  see  you  home,  Olive,"  he  called 
jubilantly.  "I  'd  have  driven  over  for  you  my 
self,  if  they  had  n't  got  the  start  of  me.  When 


36  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

are  you—"  He  had  pulled  up  as  the  two 
vehicles  approached  each  other,  expecting  a 
minute's  pause  and  chat;  but  Mr.  Harney  did 
not  slacken  the  ponies '  speed. 

"How  do  you  do,  Steve?"  called  back  Olive's 
clear  voice.  "I  'm  going  to  — oh,  wait  a  little, 
father,  please ! ' '  But  it  was  too  late,  for  they 
had  dashed  by,  leaving  the  occupant  of  the 
other  sleigh  standing  up  and  staring  back  at 
them  somewhat  blankly  along  tlie  lengthening 
road. 

"Oh,  why  did  n't  you  slow  up  a  little?"  said 
Olive  reproachfully.  "I  did  n't  have  a  chance 
for  a  word." 

"Getting  late,"  said  her  father  carelessly, 
"and  dark.  Besides,  the  ponies  are  warm,  and 
I  don 't  want  'em  to  stand. ' ' 

"Half  a  minute  would  n't  have  hurt  them," 
Olive  murmured,  disappointed. 

"Never  mind,  Ollie,  Steve  '11  be  around 
plenty  of  times  before  you  go  back,"  quizzed 
Josie.  "Say,  pa,  drive  out  around  the  Point, 
and  let  's  go  by  old  Elder  Potter's." 

Mr.  Harney  readily  turned  off  into  the  side 
road  which  skirted  the  little  point  that  pro 
jected  into  the  river  at  this  place,  and  they 
presently  came  out  on  the  tip,  where  they 
caught  the  full  sweep  of  the  fresh  north  wind. 


ON  THE  POINT  37 

Here  stood  a  small  stone  house,  and  as  they 
came  by,  a  tall  figure  was  standing  at  the 
gate,  looking  out  at  the  evening  sky.  Mr.  Har- 
ney  reined  up. 

"A  good  Thanksgiving  to  you  and  yours, 
Elder  Potter,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "I  wish 
you  'd  let  me  send  you  one  of  our  fine,  fat  tur 
keys  ;  but  I  know  you  never  can  be  persuaded 
to  take  gifts. ' ' 

The  old  man's  burning  black  eyes  were  fixed 
intently  on  the  speaker's  face.  He  did  not 
seem  to  see  the  other  occupants  of  the  cutter, 
and  gave  no  greeting  to  any  of  them.  There 
was  an  instant 's  pause,  then  he  spoke. 

"Why  should  I  take  gifts?"  he  demanded 
proudly.  "I  will  owe  no  man  anything.  As 
for  you,  Joel  Harney,  see  that  you  likewise 
owe  no  man  anything." 

"What  a  curious  way  of  putting  it!"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Harney,  as  her  husband,  momen 
tarily  disconcerted,  gathered  the  reins  and 
started  on.  * '  How  queer  he  is ! " 

"I  guess  pa  is  n't  likely  ever  to  owe  anybody 
anything,"  exulted  Josie,  with  pride  in  her 
father 's  standing.  "  Is  n  't  Mr.  Potter  the  fun 
niest  old  man !  You  never  can  tell  what  he  's 
going  to  say." 

Olive  and  Jay  were  looking  back  toward  the 


38  PEOPHET'S  LANDING 

little  stone  house.  The  outline  of  the  tall  form 
was  clearly  visible,  still  standing  motionless  at 
the  low  gate,  while  the  darkening  waters  of  the 
river  glimmered  somberly  beyond  in  the  even 
ing  light. 

Mr.  Harney  had  not  spoken.  His  lips  were 
compressed  and  his  cheerful  carelessness 
seemed  gone,  as  he  drove  slowly  home. 


IV 

FOOTLIGHTS 

IT  was  Thanksgiving  evening,  and  people  in 
Prophet's  Landing  were  gathering  in  the 
little  local  auditorium  for  the  church  entertain 
ment.  It  was  a  Presbyterian  affair,  but  in  the 
small  community  church  lines  were  not  strictly 
drawn,  and  the  enterprises  of  one  denomina 
tion  were  generally  loyally  supported  by  mem 
bers  of  the  others.  Public  amusements  were 
not  too  frequent  at  best,  and  every  opportu 
nity  was  worth  embracing. 

Jay  Harney  was  at  the  Lyceum  door,  bust 
ling  and  important,  helping  to  take  the  twenty- 
cent  tickets  which  were  purchased  at  a  table  in 
the  small  lobby.  The  hall  was  well  lighted  by 
large  kerosene  lamps ;  two  huge  stoves  diffused 
a  grateful  warmth,  and  the  curtained  stage 
gave  promise  of  enjoyment  and  edification  to 
come,  as  the  villagers  found  their  way  in  and 
chose  seats. 

Timmie  Burroughs  was  distributing  printed 
bills,  which  read  as  follows : 

39 


MUSICAL  AND    LITERARY 
ENTERTAINMENT 

GIVEN  BY  THE 

re£bptorian  Hating  $eojrte'g  anion 

Thursday  Evening,  November  26,  1874 


programme 

PART  I 


PIANO  SOLO 

THE  MAIDEN'S   PRAYER 

Miss  OLIVE  HARNEY 

RECITATION 
JOHN  MAYNARD 
MR.  HOLLIS  HEYWOOD 

SONG 

MY  GRANDFATHER'S  CLOCK 
MR.  STEPHEN  BAIRD 

VIOLIN 
KATHLEEN  MAVOURNEEN 

MRS.  SABINA  THOMAS 
Accompanied  by  Miss  LENA  GRIMSHAW 

VOCAL  DUET 

SWEET  SPIRIT,  HEAR  MY  PRAYER 
Miss  HARNEY  and  MR.  ALBERT  THORNTON 

SOPRANO  SOLOS 

a.  COME,  BIRDIE,  COME 

b.  LONG,  LONG  AGO 
Miss  ETTA  BETTS 

COMIC  SONG 
CAPTAIN  JINKS  OF  THE  HORSE  MARINES 

MR.   BAIRD 


40 


programme 

PART  II 


1.  PIANO  DUET 
POPULAR  AIRS 

Introducing  "Up  in  a.  Balloon,  Boys,"  "Walking  Down 
Broadway,"      "Shoo-Fly,"      "Putting  on  the  Style"  and 

"Little  Maggie  May." 
MISSES  HARNEY  and  GRIMSHAW 

2.  ORATION 

THE  DUTIES  OF  CITIZENSHIP 

MASTER  EDDIE  MCNAMARA 

3.  SONG 

FATHER,  DEAR  FATHER,  COME  HOME  WITH  ME  NOW 
Miss  ETTA  BETTS 

4.  VOCAL  DUET 

SILVER  THREADS  AMONG  TH£  GOLD 
MRS.  THOMAS  and  MR.   THORNTON 

5.  PIANO  SOLO 
RIPPLING  WAVES 

(With  Variations) 
Miss  OLIVE  HARNEY 

6.  COMIC  SONG 
THE  MULLIGAN  GUARDS 

MR.  BAIRD 

7.  ADDRESS 
BY  THE  PASTOR 

REV.  ANDREW  WHITEHOUSE 

8.  FINALE 
HOME,  SWEET  HOME 

Sung  by  the  Audience 


REFRE  SHMENTS 


41 


42  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

BEHIND  the  scenes,  in  the  bare  little  room 
opening  on  the  platform,  a  merry,  whispering 
party  of  the  performers  was  gathered;  all 
carefully  dressed  in  their  best  clothes,  all 
pleasingly  excited  and  self-conscious,  conning 
books,  humming  low  snatches  of  their  songs,  or 
sorting  out  their  music.  Now  and  then  the 
scrape  of  a  violin  bow  was  faintly  audible  to 
those  in  front,  or  a  burst  of  gleeful  laughter 
would  be  heard.  The  Presbyterian  Church  en 
tertainments  were  always  noted  for  one  special 
and  interesting  feature,  and  this  was  the  as 
sistance  of  Zenas  Finlay  as  introducer  and 
general  toastmaster,  so  to  speak.  Zenas,  de 
spite  his  sixty-odd  years,  most  of  them  given 
to  hard-working  farming  life,  was  possessed  of 
a  dry  and  inexhaustible  humor,  and  his  wag 
gish  sayings  did  much  to  enliven  life  in  the 
Landing  and  to  furnish  others  with  a  fund  of 
joke  and  anecdote.  He  was  invariably  made 
to  preside  at  these  light  entertainments,  the 
organizers  knowing  well  that  even  if  the  pro 
gramme  should  prove  thin,  he  would  amply 
make  up  for  its  deficiencies.  Consequently, 
when  the  row  of  candle  footlights  was  finally 
lighted  and  the  roller  curtain  went  creakily  up, 
there  was  a  welcoming  burst  of  applause  as  the 
old  man  came  solemnly  upon  the  stage  and 
stepped  forward'  to  the  centre. 


FOOTLIGHTS  43 

''Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  rubbing 
his  long,  bristly  chin  with  his  hand,  "our  mis 
sionary,  out  West,  has  run  short  o'  clo'es  an' 
terbacker  an'  things  which  he  has  to  have  to 
convert  the  heathen ;  an '  as  folks  back  here  in 
Connecticut  Ve  got  more  money  than  they 
know  what  to  do  with,  "—here  there  was  a 
ripple  of  remonstrant  laughter,— "we  youthful 
members  o '  the  Young  People 's  Union  thought 
it  was  a  good  time  to  try  an'  collect  some  of  it 
together  an'  fit  him  out  a  leetle.  You  've  all 
e't  your  Thanksgivin'  dinners  to-day,  an' 
mebbe  some  of  ye  've  remembered  to  give 
thanks,— not  countin'  the  blessin';  but  ef  ye 
have  n't,  why,  ye  c'n  comfort  y'rselves  now  by 
knowin'  that  ye  Ve  jest  given  twenty  cents' 
worth  o'  thanks  at  the  door  anyway.  An'  the 
performers,  I  hope,  '11  give  ye  twenty  cents' 
worth  o'  return  for  'em,  though,  jedgin'  from 
the  way  they  Ve  been  tryin'  their  rehearsin', 
in  behind  here,"— he  waved  with  his  hand  to 
ward  the  room  at  the  side,— "I  kind  o'  doubt 
it.  Well,  we  '11  have  to  see  by  findin '  out.  It  's 
a  comfort  to  know  we  Ve  got  the  money  safe, 
anyhow.  The  first  piece  on  the  programme 
is—"  Zenas  consulted  the  bill,— "is  'The 
Maiden 's  Prayer, '  on  the  pianer,  by  Miss  Olive 
Harney.  Of  course  you  all  know  the  maiden, 
though  mebbe  you  don't  know  her  prayer.  I 


44  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

don't  either;  but  ef  I  was  to  make  a  guess,  I 
sh'd  say  it  was  that  she  '11  make  as  good  a 
match  as  my  wife  down  there  in  the  audience 
made."  More  laughter  followed  this  sally,  to 
Mrs.  Finlay  's  manifest  confusion  as  well  as  to 
Olive's;  the  latter,  prettily  dressed  in  pink, 
and  blushing  very  charmingly  to  correspond, 
emerging  upon  the  stage,  escorted  by  Albert 
Thornton,  as  Zenas  calmly  retired  to  a  chair  in 
the  wings. 

Olive  played  with  skill  and  with  delicacy  of 
touch;  and  despite  a  little  tremor  incident  to 
the  occasion,  she  rendered  her  piece  accept 
ably,  and  was  rewarded  with  a  hearty  encore, 
responding  with  ' '  The  Battle  of  Prague. ' ' 

"I  feel  as  ef  I  'd  been  sabred  an'  cannon- 
naded,  an'  drawn  an'  quartered,"  commented 
Zenas,  slowly  coming  forward  as  the  girl  re 
tired  amid  applause.  ' '  I  had  n  't  any  idee  that 
war  was  so  bloody  an'  turrible.  Ef  's  the 
South  's  ever  tempted  to  want  to  fight  ag'in, 
after  they  've  had  time  to  fergit  the  late  on- 
pleasantness,  we  '11  jest  send  Olive  down 
among  'em  an'  git  her  to  play  'The  Battle  of 
Prague.'  That  '11  teach  'em  to  keep  out  o' 
trouble  while  they  kin.  Now  comes  a  recitation 
'bout  'John  Maynard,'  by  Mr.  Hollis  Hey- 
wood.  Seems  to  me  I  've  heerd  about  John 


FOOTLIGHTS  45 

Maynard  afore,"— here  there  was  a  subdued 
laugh,  as  the  piece  was  a  favorite  stand-by  in 
those  times,—  ''  but  I  disremember.  P'r'aps  he 
was  one  o'  the  signers  o'  the  Declaration.  Any 
way,  we  '11  soon  find  out.  Come  along,  Hollis. ' ' 

Thus  unceremoniously  introduced,  young 
Mr.  Heywood  came  forward,  and  plunged  into 
the  well  known  and  exciting  story  about  the 
steamboat  on  fire,  and  the  pilot  standing  daunt- 
lessly  by  the  wheel  amid  the  falling  sparks  as 
he  steered  to  the  shore.  Worn  as  the  tale  was, 
it  was  effectively  told,  and  held  the  listeners  in 
tent,  especially  the  children.  As  Hollis  uttered 
the  captain's  agonized  cry,  "Can  you  hold  on 
five  minutes  longer,  John!"  a  thrill  went 
through  the  house  at  the  sturdy  answer,  "Ay, 
ay,  sir!"  and  when  the  vessel  was  safely 
beached  at  last,  and  Hollis  had  made  his  bow 
and  retired,  some  one  called  ' '  Three  cheers  for 
John  Maynard ! ' '  and  they  were  given  loudly. 

"Ef  I  'd  been  John,  I  'd  've  lashed  the  wheel, 
an'  then  climbed  overboard  with  a  life-pre 
server  an'  a  long  rope  hitched  astern,"  re 
marked  Mr.  Finlay,  rising  contemplatively. 
"But  I  s'pose  he  had  his  eye  on  jest  sech  gath- 
erin's  as  this,  an'  he  knew  it  would  n't  sound 
so  well.  It  's  awful  hard,  sometimes,  to  jedge 
between  common-sense  an'  a  desire  f 'r  fame. 


46 


PROPHET'S  LANDING 


Now  comes  Steve  Baird,  to  tell  us  somethin' 
about  his  grandfather 's  clock.  I  used  to  know 
oP  Henry  Baird,  an'  I  've  visited  at  his  house 
pretty  consid'rable  in  days  gone  by,  but  I 
never  knew  that  he  had  any  pertic  'lar  clock  he 
set  store  by.  I  hope  he  left  it  to  Steve,  'cause 
it  may  1  'arn  him  to  git  to  church  a  little  promp 
ter  'n  he  gen 'rally  does." 

Stephen  Baird  stepped  forth,  quite  un 
abashed  by  this  pointed  allusion.  His  large, 
well  built  frame  and  ruddy  face  made  a  goodly 
picture,  as  he  stood  there  before  the  row  of 
tallow  footlights.  Olive  took  her  seat  at  the 
piano,  and  played  the  opening  bars  of  the 
familiar  accompaniment : 


and  Steve,  who  had  a  good  baritone  voice, 


FOOTLIGHTS  47 

broke  into  the  words  of  the  song,  so  largely  for 
gotten  now,  but  which  in  its  day  was  sung  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 


'My  Grandfather's  Clock  was  too  large  for  the 

shelf, 

So  it  stood  ninety  years  on  the  floor. 
It  was  taller  by  half  than  the  old  man  himself, 

Tho'  it  weigh 'd  not  a  pennyweight  more. 
It  was  bought  on  the  morn  of  the  day  that  he  was 

born, 

And  was  always  his  treasure  and  pride ; 
But  it  stopp  'd  short,— never  to  go  again, 
When  the  old  man  died. 

CHORUS 
"Ninety  years  without  slumbering, 

Tick,  tick ;   tick,  tick ; 
His  life-seconds  numbering, 

Tick,  tick;  tick,  tick; 
It  stopp 'd  short,— never  to  go  again,— 
When  the  old  man  died. 

2 

'  In  watching  its  pendulum  swing  to  and  fro, 
Many  hours  had  he  spent  while  a  boy ; 

By  permission  of  the  Louis  H.  Boss  Music  Publishing  Co., 
owners  of  copyright. 


48  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

And  in  childhood  and  manhood  the  clock  seem'd 
to  know 

And  to  share  both  his  grief  and  his  joy. 
It  struck  twenty-four  when  he  entered  at  the  door 

With  a  blooming  and  beautiful  bride ; 
But  it  stopp'd  short,— never  to  go  again, — 

When  the  old  man  died. 

CHORUS 


' '  My  Grandfather  said  that  of  those  he  could  hire, 

Not  a  servant  so  faithful  he  found ; 
For  it  wasted  no  time,  and  had  but  one  desire, — 

At  the  close  of  each  week  to  be  wound. 
It  kept  in  its  place,  not  a  frown  upon  its  face, 

And  its  hands  never  hung  by  its  side ; 
But  it  stopp'd  short,— never  to  go  again, — 

When  the  old  man  died." 

CHORUS 

The  audience  was  joining  softly  in  the  chorus 
now,  and  evidently  enjoying  it  as  much  as  did 
the  singer.  Steve  went  on  to  the  final  verse, 
and  his  voice  was  subdued  as  he  sang  its  words, 
—words  perhaps  a  little  artificial  or  senti 
mental  to  modern  seeming,  yet  with  an  un 
deniable  touch  of  solemnity : 


FOOTLIGHTS  49 


'  It  rang  an  alarm  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 

An  alarm  that  for  years  had  been  dumb ; 
And  we  knew  that  his  spirit  was  pluming  for 

flight, 

That  his  hour  of  departure  had  come. 
Still  the  clock  kept  the  time,  with  a  soft  and 

muffled  chime, 

As  we  silently  stood  by  its  side ; 
But  it  stopp'd  short,— never  to  go  again, — 
When  the  old  man  died." 


The  song  was  an  undoubted  success,  and 
everyone  clapped  enthusiastically.  The  singer, 
however,  did  not  respond  with  an  encore,  com 
ing  out  only  to  bow  cheerfully.  Zenas  got  up 
again. 

"I  jedge  he  's  only  got  a  couple  of  encores 
handy,  an'  lie  's  savin'  'em  f  r  later  on.  I  see 
he  's  down  twice  more  on  the  programme. 
Well,  I  'm  reel  interested  to  hear  'bout  that  ol' 
clock  of  Henry  Baird's.  Strange  I  never  heerd 
a  syllable  of  it  b'fore.  Now  I  ain't  an  agent, 
an'  this  ain't  the  place  to  do  any  advertising 
but  I  jest  want  to  tell  Steve  that  there  's  no 
sense  in  his  lettin'  the  clock  lay  off  perma 
nently  like  that.  The  works  're  all  sound  yit,  I 
jedge,  an'  ef  he  '11  jest  take  it  araound  to  Jim 


50  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

Briggs  in  this  town,  Jim  '11  repair  it  as  good  as 
new.  He  fixed  my  watch  up  fust-rate,  last 
week.  Ain  't  that  so,  Jim  ? ' ' 

Mr.  Briggs,  toward  whom  all  eyes  in  the 
audience  were  thus  suddenly  directed,  looked 
extremely  uncomfortable  at  being  brought  into 
this  unsolicited  prominence.  He  grinned  sheep 
ishly,  but  attempted  no  reply. 

The  entertainment  went  on,  well  carried  out 
by  the  different  performers,  and  continually 
enlivened  by  Zenas  Finlay's  dry  humor.  The 
fifth  number  of  Part  II  had  been  reached, 
and  while  Mr.  Finlay  was  indulging  in  some 
mild  comments  on  the  preceding  number, 
Olive,  in  the  group  in  the  room  adjoining 
the  stage,  took  up  the  music  of  "Rippling 
Waves, ' '  in  readiness  to  be  summoned.  Albert 
Thornton,  who  had  just  finished  his  duet  with 
Mrs.  Thomas,  came  toward  her  to  escort  her 
to  the  piano.  But  Steve  Baird  was  before  him. 

"I  '11  take  Olive  in,  this  time,"  said  Steve 
quietly. 

Thornton's  dark  face  flushed,  and  his  small, 
closely  set  eyes  turned  toward  the  speaker  with 
an  angry  gleam. 

"I  think  not,"  he  said.  "Miss  Harney  did 
me  the  honor  before,  and—" 

' '  And  she  '11  do  me  the  honor  now, ' '  finished 
the  other  curtly.  ' '  Won 't  you,  Olive  ? ' ' 


FOOTLIGHTS  51 

Zenas  had  finished,  and  they  were  all  waiting 
for  her.  The  embarrassed  girl  had  no  oppor 
tunity  to  make  a  choice,  for  almost  before  she 
knew  it,  Baird  had  pushed  Thornton  aside 
with  an  effortless  but  irresistible  movement  of 
his  arm,  and,  offering  that  arm  to  Olive,  led 
her  upon  the  stage. 

"My!  did  you  see  that  look  Al  Thornton 
gave  him1?"  whispered  Etta  Betts  to  one  of  the 
men,  half  fearfully.  ' '  He  '11  get  even  with  him 
somehow. ' ' 

"Served  him  right,"  muttered  the  young 
fellow  whom  she  addressed.  None  of  the 
young  men  liked  Thornton.  "Only  been  here 
six  months,  and  acts  as  if  he— 

"You  're  all  jealous  of  him,"  retorted  Miss 
Etta  pertly.  "That  's  because  he  's  so  good- 
looking.  ' ' 

"Humph!  I  don't  care  a  darn  for  his  good 
looks,"  sniffed  the  other,  sotto  voce.  "But 
he  's  sneaky  and  still." 

"That  was  rude  of  you,  Steve,"  said  Olive, 
reproachfully,  after  the  entertainment,  when 
performers  and  auditors  were  socially  min 
gling  in  the  discussion  of  coffee  and  cake,  and 
the  two  found  themselves  together.  "I  did  n't 
realize  what  you  were  doing  till  too  late,  or  I  'd 
certainly  have  gone  on  with  Mr.  Thornton." 

"Well,   it   was   too   late,   you   see,    Ollie," 


52  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

laughed  Baird  easily.  "I  concluded  you  'd 
been  with  him  enough  for  one  evening. ' ' 

"What  right  have  you  got  to  conclude  any 
such  thing?"  demanded  the  girl>  in  indignant 
remonstrance. 

Steve  laughed  again,  teasingly. 

' '  Lots  of  right,  Ollie, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Ever  since 
I  used  to  drag  you  to  school  on  your  sled,  and 
fight  the  other  boys  when  they  wanted  to  take 
turns. ' ' 

"It  's  a  very  different  thing,  now,  Steve 
Baird, ' '  returned  the  offended  young  lady.  '  *  I 
won't  let—" 

"Have  another  piece  of  cake,  Ollie,  and  keep 
the  scolding  till  we  're  walking  home. ' ' 

"We  're  not  going  to  walk  home,— at  least, 
not  together.  I  'm  going  to  let  Mr.  Thornton 
take  me  home. ' ' 

Steve 's  face  fell.    <  <  What  f  or  ? "  he  asked. 

' '  Because  you  were  so  rude  to  him. ' '  Olive 
had  told  her  father  truthfully  that  she  did  not 
like  his  managing  clerk;  but  what  girl  under 
these  clashing  claims  would  not  have  sufficient 
of  the  coquette  in  her  to  be  willing  to  hold  the 
balance  temporarily  even? 

Mr.  Finlay's  thin,  gaunt  form  approached 
the  two. 

"I  don'  know  which  of  ye  I  heerd  the  most 


FOOTLIGHTS  53 

compliments  fur,"  he  remarked  genially. 
"Mebbe  't  won't  be  worth  while  tryin'  to  sort 
'em  apart,  an'  you  c'n  both  keep  'em  in  com 
mon.  ' ' 

"I  'd  rather  have  mine  by  themselves, 
please,"  Olive  responded  with  dignity.  Then 
she  smiled  up  at  him.  "I  think  most  of  them 
go  to  you,  though. ' ' 

"That  's  the  fust  one  I  Ve  had,"  said  he 
mendaciously. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Finlay!  Why,  I  Ve  heard  'em 
just  flying  all  around  you,  like  corn  in  a  pop 
per." 

"Dear  Olive,  you  did  play  so  nicely!"  ex 
claimed  some  worthy  matron,  bustling  up  to 
the  three ;  and  as  others  came  near,  they  were 
gradually  fused  into  a  noisy,  busily  talking 
group,  and  Steve  found  himself  effectually  sun 
dered  from  his  companion. 

He  was  near  enough,  however,  a  little  later, 
to  hear  Thornton  ask  her  if  he  might  see  her 
home,  and  to  see  her  nod  pleasantly  in  reply; 
thus  learning  that  the  question  had  not  been 
asked  before,  and  that  he  himself  had  been  the 
cause  of  forfeiting  his  own  opportunity. 

Olive  had  not  spoken  with  Steve  again,  and 
did  not  appear  to  have  noticed  his  moody  face ; 
yet,  as  all  flocked  out  into  the  clear,  wintry 


54  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

night,  and  she  with  her  escort  passed  near  him, 
she  called  out : 

"Oh,  Steve,  if  you  '11  come  around  to-mor 
row  evening,  we  '11  try  over  those  two  new 
songs  I  brought  back  from  school." 

"An',  Steve,  don't  fergit  to  have  Jim  Briggs 
fix  y'r  grandfather's  clock,"  put  in  Zenas  Fin- 
lay,  who  overheard  her.  "It  may  come  in 
handy  f ' r  housekeepin ',  some  time." 


V 

BRANCHING   OUT 

THE  next  few  months  witnessed  several  im 
portant  developments  in  Joel  Harney's 
fortunes.  His  store  in  Prophet 's  Landing  had 
become  too  small  for  his  expanding  energies, 
and  he  had  opened  a  branch  store  in  the  larger 
town  of  Wollaston,  three  miles  inland.  It  was 
a  branch  which  bid  fair  rapidly  to  surpass  the 
parent  trunk.  Joel  had  rented  a  commodious 
building  on  the  main  street,  with  a  privilege  of 
purchase ;  and  had  repaired  and  extensively  re 
modeled  it.  It  was  stocked  along  the  same 
lines  as  the  store  in  Prophet's  Landing,  but  on 
a  considerably  larger  scale ;  what  was  in  a  vil 
lage  merely  a  ' '  general  store, ' '  became  in  this 
larger  community  a  department  store,  with  its 
many  possibilities  of  ramification.  This  called 
for  considerable  capital,  all  of  which  was  forth 
coming  without  difficulty.  Mr.  Harney's  credit 
was  of  the  best,  and  an  enterprise  of  this  kind 
tended  materially  to  increase  it.  He  supplied 

55 


56  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

a  part  of  the  funds  from  his  own  resources; 
and  the  remainder  he  was  able  readily  to  obtain 
from  the  local  bank  at  easy  rates.  So  the  new 
venture  rapidly  took  shape,  and  on  the  second 
of  April  the  store  burgeoned  out  with  full  lines 
of  inviting  new  goods,  which  attracted  an  eager 
throng  for  the  opening  day.  Mr.  Harney,  calm, 
confident  and  masterful,  supervised  every  de 
tail,— ably  seconded  by  Thornton,  who  was  to 
have  managing  charge  of  the  new  store,  and  as 
sisted  by  a  staff  of  keenly  selected  clerks. 

The  business  was  a  success  from  the  first, 
wholly  setting  at  naught  the  prediction  of 
many  who  had  contended  that  Mr.  Harney  was 
going  ahead  too  boldly,  and  that  he  would  lose 
if  he  took  risks  in  this  larger  venture.  He  him 
self  had  never  had  a  doubt  regarding  the  ven 
ture,  though  he  knew  well  the  difficulties  and 
dangers  attending  it.  He  felt  himself  thor 
oughly  in  his  element,  and  entirely  adequate  to 
cope  with  the  new  responsibilities.  He  made 
trips  to  Boston  and  Albany  and  New  York, 
where  he  evinced  rare  abilities  as  a  shrewd 
buyer  and  a  bargainer  for  favored  terms.  The 
older  stores  of  quiet,  easy-going  Wollaston 
quickly  began  to  feel  the  competition,  and  the 
merchants  realized  that  a  new  and  larger  per 
sonality  had  come  among  them. 


BRANCHING  OUT  57 

Joe  Sands  and  Harry  Bemis  remained  in 
joint  charge  of  the  store  in  Prophet's  Landing, 
under  the  unslackened  direction  of  its  owner. 
Mr.  Harney  spent  the  mornings  in  Wollaston 
and  the  afternoons  in  Prophet's  Landing,  at 
first  generally  taking  his  midday  meal  in  the 
former  town,  but  gradually  making  it  possible 
to  dine  at  home  as  formerly.  This  family  meal 
was  always  a  favorite  hour  with  Joel,  whose 
attachment  to  his  household  seemed  to  in 
crease,  if  possible,  with  his  increasing  cares. 
Thornton  had  taken  hold  of  the  new  branch 
with  much  ability,  as  his  employer  had  foreseen. 
One  of  Mr.  Harney 's  special  faculties  was  his 
business  judgment  of  men,— a  faculty  shown 
not  only  in  his  choice  of  Thornton,  whom  he 
had  first  encountered  in  Boston,  but  in  his  un 
erring  selection  of  the  new  attendants  at  the 
Wollaston  store.  It  was  his  way  to  look  an  ap 
plicant  over  comprehensively,  taking  in  details 
of  dress  and  carriage  and  manner,  ask  a  few 
searching,  incisive  questions,  briefly  examine 
references,  and  then  make  swift  and  unalter 
able  decision.  The  personnel  of  the  new  store 
showed  itself  the  most  efficient  of  any  in  the 
town;  and  this  in  itself  would  account  for 
much  of  the  store's  prompt  success. 

Mr.  Harney  was  a  firm  believer  in  liberal  ad- 


58  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

vertising,  and  the  sleepy  columns  of  the  Wol- 
laston  Chronicle  and  the  Saturday  Press  were 
awakened  by  constantly  changing  and  always 
interesting  announcements.  This  was  a  plan 
that  he  had  long  pursued  with  the  little  local 
Gazette  in  the  Landing.  His  neighbors  there 
used  at  times  to  criticise  his  free  use  of  money 
for  these  local  displays;  but  their  arguments 
never  altered  the  trend  of  his  business  instinct. 

"What  's  the  use  o'  takin'  space  to  tell  us 
about  that  new  consignment  o'  flour  an'  feed, 
Joel?"  one  of  his  friends  would  argue  good- 
naturedly.  "You  're  the  only  store  in  the 
village  that  keeps  flour  an'  feed,  an'  we  all  al- 
lers  buy  it  there  anyway,— an'  allers  expect  to, 
as  long  as  ye  keep  on  sellin'  it  as  cheap  as  we 
c'n  git  it  anywhere  else.  That  's  jest  a  waste 
o '  money. ' ' 

But  Joel  did  not  think  so.  His  belief  was 
that  the  volume  of  trade  in  a  community  was 
not  a  fixed  and  determined  amount  but  could  be 
stimulated  and  enlarged. 

"Business  is  n't  simply  supplying  what  peo 
ple  want, ' '  he  would  say.  "It  's  making  people 
want  things  you  can  supply." 

This  maxim  he  acted  on  in  numberless  ways. 
The  windows  of  the  village  store  in  Prophet's 
Landing  had  never  of  late  years  been  like  the 


BRANCHING  OUT  59 

•windows  of  the  average  village  store  else 
where,— unchanged  from  month  to  month,  with 
a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  fly-specked  gro 
cery-packages  and  pickle-bottles  in  one  win 
dow,  backed  by  a  once  gaudy  tobacco  placard, 
and  with  a  meagre  array  of  notions,  perfumery 
and  dry-goods  in  the  other.  Joel  made  it  a 
point  to  keep  his  stock  constantly  turned  over. 
He  allowed  no  accumulations  of  forgotten 
goods  in  forgotten  drawers  and  shelf-corners. 
Every  few  days,  the  counters  were  differently 
set  out,  the  windows  newly  furnished.  Articles 
that  had  had  a  slow  sale  were  alluringly  pushed 
into  prominence,  with  specially  ticketed  price- 
reductions.  Articles  that  sold  well  were  made 
to  sell  still  better.  These  methods,  simple  in 
themselves,  and  long  put  into  commonplace 
practice  in  such  great  city  emporiums  as  was 
then  Stewart's  in  New  York  or  Warren's  in 
Boston,  were  and  are  yet  curiously  little  made 
use  of  in  country  districts.  Even  Wollaston, 
larger  by  far  and  more  progressive  than 
Prophet's  Landing,  rubbed  its  eyes  in  much 
astonishment  at  the  brisk  shaking  of  dry  bones 
which  took  place,  after  the  new  store,  under 
the  filially  loyal  name  of  "  J.  Harney  &  Son," 
had  been  opened. 
No  sooner  was  success  assured  in  this  step 


60  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

forward,  than  Mr.  Harney  made  ready  to  take 
another.  This  was  the  building  of  a  new  home. 
It  was  a  project  that  Mrs.  Harney  had  long  op 
posed. 

"It  '11  never  be  the  same  to  us,  Joel,"  she 
pleaded.  "Here  your  dear  father  and  mother 
lived,  and  here  we  came  when  we  were  mar 
ried,  and  they  welcomed  us  so  lovingly;  and 
here  the  children  have  been  born,  and  have 
grown  up,  and  it  's  just  home  to  all  of  us. 
It  's  plenty  large  enough,  if  you  'd  only  think 
so." 

Joel  would  point  out  its  undeniable  deficien 
cies,  its  small,  old-fashioned  rooms,  its  lack  of 
good  heating  facilities,  its  inconvenient  winter 
and  summer  kitchens,  its  location,  which  was 
on  a  side  street  and  admittedly  unsatisfactory : 
but  Mrs.  Harney  remained  unconvinced. 

"It  was  an  old  house  even  in  father's  time, 
Ellen,"  Mr.  Harney  said.  "I  think  a  house 
gets  old  and  unfit  for  use,  just  as  a  person  does. 
The  wood  holds  the  damp,  or  it  gets  dry  rot 
and  grows  musty,  and  the  floors  and  stairs 
creak,  and  everything  about  the  place  comes 
to  need  renewing.  The  best  thing  for  a 
house  like  this  would  be  to  burn  it  down, 
carpets,  paper,  furniture  and  all,  and  start 
fresh. ' ' 


BRANCHING  OUT  61 

' '  Joel !  you  would  n  't  do  such  a  thing ! ' '  ex 
claimed  his  wife,  horrified. 

"No,  I  would  n't  do  that,  my  dear,"  he 
laughed.  "•!  '11  keep  the  old  place  standing,  if 
only  because  it  has  all  these  associations  you 
speak  of.  I  don't  know  that  I  'd  even  try  to 
rent  it  or  sell  it.  But  we  've  outgrown  it,  I 
think." 

"There  's  all  the  room  we  need,"  remon 
strated  Mrs.  Harney. 

"It  is  n't  that.  We  Ve  outgrown  it  in  other 
ways.  We  had  a  plain  bringing  up,  you  and  I, 
Ellen,  and  I  don't  say  we  're  any  the  worse  for 
it.  I  know  you  're  not.  Anyway,  it  was  the 
best  going,  when  we  were  young.  But  we  owe 
the  children  something  different." 

"We  don't  want  to  stand  in  their  light, 
of  course,  Joel,"  admitted  she.  "But  I  don't 
see  how — " 

1 '  Things  are  on  rather  a  different  scale  with 
us  now,  you  see,"  he  said.  "The  girls  will  be 
having  callers  soon,  and  giving  parties,  and  I 
want  Jay  to  go  to  college  and  have  a  good 
home  to  bring  his  friends  back  to ;  and  I  think 
you  and  I  can  learn  to  enjoy  a  few  extra  com 
forts,  eh,  Ellen?" 

There  were  many  discussions  of  this  nature 
before  Mr.  Harney  brought  his  wife  to  see  the 


62  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

wisdom  of  his  project;  but  she  was  finally  won 
over,  and  the  month  that  witnessed  the  open 
ing  of  the  Wollaston  store  witnessed  later  the 
signing  of  a  contract  for  a  new  residence  on  a 
plot  of  ground  that  Joel  had  long  owned  on  the 
pleasant,  rambling  main  street  of  Prophet's 
Landing. 

"Joel  's  forgin'  ahead,  ain't  he?"  com 
mented  Jim  Briggs  to  a  customer  in  his  little 
watch  and  clock  store,  when  the  news  became 
known. 

"I  should  say  he  was,"  responded  the  cus 
tomer.  "He  '11  be  gittin'  above  all  his  old 
friends  after  a  while,  ef  he  keeps  on." 

"Have  you  noticed  any  diff'rence  in  him?" 
inquired  Mr.  Briggs. 

"Why,  I  can't  say  as  I  have,  exac'ly;  noth- 
in'  that  you  c'd  put  your  finger  on.  An'  yit 
there  's  a  kind  o'  somethin'. " 

"I  Ve  thought  so  too,"  assented  the  watch 
maker.  ' '  As  friendly  as  ever,  y '  know,  but  jest 
a  little  stiffish  or  somethin'.  Hope  't  ain't 
goin '  to  sp  'ile  him. ' ' 

"I  seen  him  drivin'  by  with  the  bank  presi 
dent  fr'm  over  at  Wollaston,  this  forenoon," 
went  on  the  visitor.  ' '  Showin '  him  the  lot,  I 
s'pose.  He  's  makin'  some  rich  friends  over 
there." 


BRANCHING  OUT  63 

"Most  likely  he  is." 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  lie  's  goin'  to  build  here, 
an'  not  there.  It  '11  help  the  village  to  have  a 
han'some  new  house." 

11  There  goes  George  Burroughs,"  observed 
Jim,  peering  over  his  littered  work-table 
through  the  dusty  front  window-pane.  ' '  Looks 
kind  o '  shabby,  don 't  he  ?  Old,  too. ' ' 

"It  's  your  fault  an'  mine  ef  he  doos,  Jim," 
spoke  the  other,  Ezra  McNamara,  sharply. 

"What  d'  ye  mean?"  demanded  Mr.  Briggs, 
astonished. 

"Where  're  you  gittin'  your  shoes  now 
adays?' 

"Why,  at  Harney's  store.  They  're  cheaper 
there.  Ain  't  you  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  An' so 's  other  folks.  But  what  d'ye 
s'pose  George  Burroughs  is  thinldn'  'bout  it?" 

"I  can't  afford  to  pay  a  quarter  more  a  pair, 
jest  to  obleege  George,"  said  Jim  defensively. 

"Nor  I.  But  you  'd  better  look  out,  Jim. 
Next  thing  you  know,  Joel  Harney  '11  be  sellin' 
an'  repairin'  clocks  an'  watches;  an'  then 
where  '11  you  be?" 

"Gracious!  I  hope  not!"  exclaimed  the 
somewhat  slow-witted  Mr.  Briggs.  He  was 
much  startled.  "I  never  thought  o'  sech  a 
thing.  Where  'd  ye  hear  that?" 


64  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"I  hain't  heerd  a  word.  But  it  might  hap 
pen,  y'  know,"  and  Mr.  McNamara  departed, 
leaving  Mr.  Briggs  in  a  very  troubled  frame 
of  mind. 

George  Burroughs  was  looking  shabby,  as 
they  had  said.  His  wife  and  Timmie  were 
looking  shabby  too,— a  fact  which  worried  him 
far  more  than  his  own  condition.  His  heart 
was  very  heavy,  as  he  made  his  way  down  the 
street  and  entered  Harney's  store. 

"Mr.  Harney  inside,  Harry!"  he  asked. 

1  i  Yes,  he  's  right  in  the  back  office. ' ' 

George  Burroughs  went  in  and  closed  the 
door.  Mr.  Harney  was  writing  at  the  high 
desk. 

"Joel,"  said  the  older  man,  as  he  sat  down 
slowly  in  the  leather-seated  arm-chair,  "last 
fall,  you  said  somethin'  'bout  takin'  my  stock 
an'  lettin'  me  come  in  here." 

Mr.  Harney  put  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  and 
in  a  leisurely  way  wheeled  around  to  face  his 
visitor. 

"I  remember,"  he  said. 

"Air  ye  willin'  to  stand  by  your  offer 
now!" 

" Certainly. "  Mr.  Harney's  manner  was 
not  less  considerate  than  ever  toward  his  old 
friend,  and  yet  there  was  an  indefinable  effect 
of  distance. 


BRANCHING  OUT  65 

George  Burroughs  paused  a  moment.  It 
seemed  to  be  inexpressibly  painful  to  him  to 
say  what  he  had  come  to  say. 

"I  '11  take  it  then,"  he  said  finally. 

"Very  well,"  returned  the  other  in  com 
posed  tones.  ' ;  I  think  you  '11  find  no  reason  to 
complain." 

"No,  I  don't  expect  to."  The  effort  of  ac 
ceptance  once  made,  he  spoke  listlessly. 

"We  're  needing  another  man  here,"  went 
on  Mr.  Harney,  in  quiet  business  tones.  "I 
judge  you  '11  be  just  the  one,  George." 

"I  hope  so,"  responded  Burroughs,  still 
listlessly.  "I  '11  do  my  best.  When  d'  you 
want  I  sh  'd  begin  ? ' ' 

1  i  Whenever  you  can  arrange  it. ' ' 

"My  store  lease  don't  run  out  till  the  fust  o' 
September,"  explained  Mr.  Burroughs.  "It  's 
only  the  middle  o '  May,  now. ' ' 

"I  '11  take  the  lease  off  your  hands  with  the 
stock.  I  can  use  the  place  for  storage  pur 
poses  during  the  summer.  It  '11  be  quite  use 
ful,  in  fact. ' ' 

"Fust  o' June,  then?" 

"That  will  do  very  well.  I  'm  thinking  of 
taking  a  little  trip  with  the  family  somewheres, 
along  in  July  or  August;  I  rather  need  a  few 
weeks'  rest;  and  I  '11  be  glad  to  feel  that 
you  're  here,  along  with  Joe  and  Harry. 


66  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

Meanwhile,  that   '11  give  us  time  to  go  over 
your  stock  and  arrange  matters." 

Joel  Harney's  handshake  at  parting  was  as 
friendly  as  always;  yet  George  Burroughs,  as 
he  walked  back  to  his  own  little  store,  bore 
himself  as  though  he  had  met  with  a  refusal 
rather  than  an  acceptance.  He  closed 'his  door 
behind  him  and  turned  the  key,  and  went  on 
into  the  small  workshop  behind.  Here  he 
stood  for  a  minute,  surveying  his  bench  and 
scattered  tools,  the  curling  pieces  of  cut 
leather  littering  the  floor,  and  all  the  familiar 
dust  and  disorder  amidst  which  he  had  bravely 
and  patiently  toiled  for  so  many  years.  A  side 
window  was  open,  and  from  without  came  the 
untroubled  note  of  a  robin  as  it  rejoiced  in 
the  springtime.  George  Burroughs  sat  down 
at  his  worn  working  table,  and  bowed  his  head 
on  his  arms. 


VI 

LOVE   IN   IDLENESS 

IT  was  a  brilliant  June  afternoon.  Olive 
was  at  home  once  more,  her  school  term 
having  ended,  and  Steve  Baird  was  taking  her 
for  a  row  on  the  river.  The  girl  made  a  pretty 
picture,  as  she  sat  back  lazily  on  the  stern  seat 
with  her  hat  in  her  lap  and  the  slanting  sun 
lighting  up  her  soft  brown  hair.  Now  and 
then  she  trailed  her  hand  idly  in  the  water,  as 
the  boat  slipped  along  under  Steve's  easy, 
steady  strokes. 

"This  is  nice,  Ollie, "  said  the  young  man 
with  satisfaction,  his  eyes  resting  on  her  ad 
miringly.  He  himself  was  good  to  look  at,  as 
his  well  knit  figure  swayed  forward  and  back 
ward.  He  had  taken  off  his  coat  and  had 
thrown  it  behind  him  at  the  bow. 

"Is  n't  it?"  assented  the  girl  happily. 
' '  Don 't  you  always  love  June  1 ' ' 

"Remember    that    time    we    were    rowing 

67 


68  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

across  to  Easthaven,  one  year!"  asked  Steve. 
1 '  When  it  came  on  to  rain,  you  know. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  indeed, ' '  said  Olive,  laughing.  ' '  When 
I  made  you  come  back  here  and  share  rny  um 
brella  till  the  shower  was  over. ' ' 

Steve  looked  up  at  the  clear  sky. 

"I  'm  afraid  there  is  n't  a  sign  of  rain  to 
day,  ' '  he  said,  with  mock  lugubriousness. 

His  companion  laughed  again. 

' '  Mr.  Thornton  was  right  when  he  said,  last 
night,  that  it  was  going  to  be  a  lovely  day," 
she  observed.  "He  wanted  me  to  go  driving 
with  him. ' ' 

<  <  Why  did  n  't  you  ? ' '  demanded  Stephen. 

"Why,  Steve!  I  'd  promised  to  come  with 
you." 

Baird's  brow  had  darkened  a  little.  "I  hate 
that  fellow, ' '  he  said  sternly. 

"He  never  says  anything  against  you, 
Steve,"  put  in  the  girl  reprovingly. 

He  flushed.  "I  did  n't  mean  it  in  that  way, 
Ollie.  You  know  I  did  n't.  I  would  n't  run  a 
fellow  down  just  because  he—  '  the  speaker 
stopped  abruptly,  and  bent  more  vigorously  to 
his  oars.  "I  should  n't  want  to  see  him  going 
with  you,  even  if — 

' '  He  is  n 't  going  with  me, ' '  she  declared,  far 
from  offended,  if  the  truth  be  told.  ' '  He  came 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS  69 

in    to    see    us,    last    night,    just    as    anyone 
could. ' ' 

n  <Us'!"  grunted  the  rower  skeptically. 
"Wanted  to  call  on  your  mother  and  Jay,  I 
suppose.  Well,  don't  let  's  talk  about  him. 
I  Ve  got  something  to  tell  you,  Ollie. ' ' 

Miss  Harney  looked  rather  alarmed  at  this 
announcement,  and  glanced  up  at  her  com 
panion  in  some  perturbation.  But  Steve  was 
rowing  unconsciously  on. 

"I  've  taken  a  big  step,"  he  said. 

' '  You  have,  Steve  1    What  kind  of  a  step  1 ' ' 

"Well,  it  's  a  step  up,  I  hope,"  he  rejoined, 
laughing.  "It  '11  be  either  a  step  up  or  a 
slip-up.  I  'm  going  to  change  businesses." 

"You  're  not  going  away?"  asked  the  girl 
in  quick  questioning. 

Even  Steve,  though  not  subtle,  could  not  fail 
to  detect  the  sudden  note  of  dismay  in  her 
voice,  and  it  filled  him  with  gladness. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said  cheerfully.    "Not  while 
can  help  it.    But  Captain  Prout  and  I  have  ar 
ranged  to  dissolve." 

The  small  capital  which  Steve  Baird  had  in 
herited  at  his  father's  death,  a  few  years  be 
fore,  he  had  put  into  the  modest  ferriage  and 
lighter  business  which  Captain  Prout  con 
ducted  between  Prophet's  Landing  and  East- 


70  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

haven  opposite  and  other  points  on  the  river. 
Steve  looked  after  the  shore  end  of  the  busi 
ness,  while  his  older  associate  continued  as  be 
fore  to  attend  to  the  boats. 

"Why  on  earth  are  you  going  to  dissolve?" 
inquired  the  girl,  much  surprised.  ' 1 1  thought 
you  were  working  very  well  together. ' ' 

"Well,  we  've  made  a  little  something,  of 
course,"  admitted  the  young  fellow.  He  drew 
in  his  wet  oars  and  allowed  the  boat  to  drift 
for  a  time.  "And  we  're  going  to  work  to 
gether  still.  I  've  bought  the  little  old  wooden 
warehouse  at  the  wharf,  and  am  going  to  tear 
it  down  and  put  up  a  bigger  one. ' ' 

Olive  waited  with  interest  for  further  infor 
mation. 

"I  can't  make  it  much  bigger,  all  at  once," 
he  went  on,  "because  I  have  n't  got  much 
money,  of  course.  But  I  'm  putting  in  every 
cent  I  Ve  got,  and  whatever  I  can  borrow  be 
sides." 

"Is  n't  it  risky,  Steve?" 

* '  I  don 't  think  so.  The  old  building  is  'most 
tumbling  down,  and  it  has  always  been  too 
small.  I  think  the  wharfage  traffic  is  bound  to 
increase.  There  's  a  whole  lot  of  new  business 
coming  through  to  Wollaston  lately. ' ' 

"Why  is  that?" 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS  71 

Steve  laughed. 

"Those  old  fogies  over  there  have  always 
been  getting  most  of  their  goods  by  rail,"  he 
said.  * '  Your  father,  with  his  new  store,  found 
that  he  could  make  cheaper  arrangements  by 
water  here  through  the  Landing.  And  now 
that  he  's  showed  'em  the  way,  some  of  'em  are 
starting  in  to  follow. ' ' 

"It  's  very  interesting,  Steve.  It  certainly 
seems  as  if  it  ought  to  be  profitable. ' ' 

"It  's  bound  to  be,"  he  asserted  confidently. 
"I  '11  be  enlarging  within  a  year.  And  I  mean 
to  grab  for  some  of  the  freight  hauling  to  Wol- 
laston  too."  He  took  up  the  oars  again,  and 
turned  the  boat  to  a  wooded  cove  on  the  bank. 
"Let  's  go  ashore  and  get  a  drink  at  the  rock- 
spring,"  he  pursued.  "I  'm  thirsty,  with  all 
this  rowing— and  talking." 

The  boat  touched  the  shore,  and  Steve, 
leaping  out  and  securing  it,  helped  Olive  to 
land. 

'  *  I  have  n  't  got  my  cup, ' '  said  the  girl. 

"Make  a  cup  of  your  hands." 

' '  I  don 't  want  a  drink  myself, ' '  she  said. 

"Then  make  a  cup  for  me." 

"Oh,  Steve!"  she  protested,  laughing. 

"Please  do,"  he  begged.  "I  never  could 
make  one  myself." 


72  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"Why  don't  you  lie  down  and  put  your  lips 


"Makes  my  head  ache,"  he  responded  men 
daciously.  "Please  make  me  a  cup." 

The  girl  laughed  again,  and  after  an  in 
stant  's  hesitation,  made  her  way  to  the  edge  of 
the  cool,  clear-bottomed  spring,  and  pushing 
up  her  sleeves  a  little,  plunged  her  hands  in, 
and  lifted  them,  dripping,  with  a  double  hand 
ful  of  water.  Steve  drank  with  avidity. 

"More,  please,"  he  urged. 

She  brought  him  up  another  double  handful. 

"That  's  the  very  best  drink  I  've  ever  had 
in  my  life,"  he  said  emphatically.  "And  the 
very  sweetest,  too."  He  gathered  her  hands 
into  his  own,  and  suddenly  pressed  his  lips 
against  the  rosy  wet  palms. 

"Don't,  Steve,"  she  remonstrated.  "You 
must  n't." 

"I  want  to,  Olive.  I  want  the  right  to  do  it 
always.  No,  don't  try  to  draw  them  away. 
Let  me  have  them  for  mine.  Ollie,  you  can't 
help  knowing  how  much  I  've  always  loved  you 
and  wanted  you.  There  never  's  been  any 
other  girl  for  me.  Now  I  Ve  just  got  to  tell 
you  about  it."  His  strong  arm  stole  tenderly 
about  her  waist. 

But  the  girl  gently  drew  away. 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS  73 

" Don't,  Steve,"  she  said  again.  "Don't 
let  's  think  of  such  things,— not  yet  awhile,  any 
way.  We  're  too  young  yet.  I  'm  just  out  of 
school,  and  you  're  only— 

"Twenty- four  next  October,"  he  asserted. 
"What  's  the  need  of  putting  things  off?" 

"I  'd  a  great  deal  rather,"  she  pleaded. 
"There  're  years  and  years  ahead  of  us  yet. 
Maybe  you  '11  change. ' ' 

"Huh!"  he  said  incredulously.  Maybe  you 
will." 

'  *  Maybe  so, ' '  she  agreed,  to  his  manifest  dis 
comfiture. 

"Do  you  mean  Thornton?"  he  probed, 
rashly. 

Her  eyes  flashed. 

"Steve  Baird!  What  a  horrid  thing  to  say! 
I  don't  mean  anybody."  She  moved  toward 
the  boat  in  offended  maidenly  dignity. 

"Excuse  me,  Ollie,"  he  cried  remorsefully, 
coming  after  her.  "I  did  n't  mean  it,  of 
course  I  did  n't.  Please  forgive  me."  She 
had  paused  as  he  came  up  with  her,  and  his 
arm  went  around  her  again. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  smiling  her  for 
giveness. 

"I  know  you  did  n't,  Steve.  It  is  n't  any 
body  at  all.  You  can  be  sure  of  that.  Only, 


74  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

let  's  leave  things  as  they1  are,  for— oh,  for  a 
good  while  yet.  No,  you  can't  kiss  me."  She 
slipped  away,  and  ran  on  toward  the  rowboat. 

"I  ought  n't  to  have  let  you  drink  from  my 
hands,"  she  said  laughingly,  as  she  sprang 
lightly  upon  the  bow-seat  and  stood  poised 
there  looking  down  at  him.  "I  suppose  that 
'encouraged'  you,  as  they  call  it." 

Steve  hardly  knew  whether  to  admit  or  deny 
this  allegation.  He  knew  only  that  she  looked 
very  arch  and  lovely  as  she  stood  there. 

"Don't  say  that  you  won't  let  me  drink  from 
them  again,"  he  said. 

"I  shan't  make  any  promises,"  she  re 
sponded,  turning  and  taking  her  place  in  the 
stern.  "Push  off  now,  and  let  's  row  home  by 
the  Point.  The  river  's  always  so  pretty,  just 
there." 

The  young  man  obeyed,  and  as  they  rowed 
back  down  the  river,  he  wisely  forbore  further 
allusion  to  the  incident  at  the  spring,  and 
turned  again  to  the  subject  of  his  new  venture, 
discussing  it  hopefully.  Olive  listened  with 
close  attention,  asking  many  questions,  and 
revealing  something  of  her  father's  clear  and 
prompt  comprehension  of  business  matters. 
As  they  approached  the  Point,  an  impulse 
came  to  her  to  stop  at  the  Potters'. 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS  75 

* '  I  'd  like  to  go  up  and  see  Mrs.  Potter, ' '  she 
said,  looking  toward  the  low  stone  house  on  the 
rising  ground  beyond  the  road.  "And  it  's 
always  interesting  if  you  happen  to  meet  Elder 
Potter  himself." 

"We  '11  ask  him  to  give  us  his  blessing,"  re 
marked  Stephen  audaciously,  putting  on  his 
coat. 

1 l  Don 't  you  dare  do  such  a  thing ! ' '  she  com 
manded  with  energy. 

They  stepped  ashore,  and  strolled  up  the  low 
bank  to  the  road.  Crossing  it,  they  went  in  at 
the  gate,  and  Olive  knocked  at  the  side  door  of 
the  little  house. 

It  was  opened,  and  a  pleasant,  motherly  face 
was  seen. 

"Well,  dearie,"  said  good  old  Mrs.  Potter, 
who  had  known  Olive  from  her  babyhood; 
"glad  to  see  you  back  home  again.  And, 
Stephen,  you  're  looking  well.  Won't  you 
come  in  I " 

"We  only  came  up  from  the  boat  to  see 
how  you  were,  Mrs.  Potter,"  the  girl  rejoined. 

"And  to  get  a  drink  of  water,  please,"  put  in 
her  companion. 

"Nonsense,  Steve!"  reproved  she,  blushing 
a  little  as  she  spoke.  "You  're  not  a  bit 
thirsty.  Don 't  mind  him,  Mrs.  Potter. ' ' 


76  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"We  can  always  spare  a  cup  of  cold  water," 
said  the  latter  amiably. 

"Can  I  drink  it  the  way  I  want  it?"  began 
the  young  man,  with  a  teasing  glance  at  Olive. 
"Because  after  this,  I  always—  " 

"Steve!"  Olive  said  peremptorily;  "you 
hush !  I  don 't  know  what  's  got  into  him,  this 
afternoon,  Mrs.  Potter,"  she  added  apologet 
ically. 

"I  think  I  can  guess,  dearie,"  responded 
that  wise  woman,  smiling  at  them  both  as  they 
stood  there  on  the  path  before  her  door  in  the 
golden  afternoon  sunlight.  "It  does  get  into 
persons  sometimes,— and  I  'm  sure  one  can't 
always  blame  them,"  she  could  not  help  add 
ing,  as  she  noted  Olive  Harney's  fair  face. 

A  step  was  heard  behind  her,  and  her  tall 
husband  looked  out  at  them  from  over  her 
shoulder.  His  face  was  not  stern  and  accusa 
tory,  as  Olive  had  last  seen  it,  on  the  occasion 
of  that  family  sleigh-ride,  the  November  be 
fore.  This  time,  the  prophet's  look  was  mild 
and  benign.  His  eyes  dwelt  on  the  pair  a 
moment  in  friendly  greeting;  then  they  rested 
on  his  wife. 

"We  were  young  once,  too,"  he  said  softly, 
as  to  himself.  "It  is  a  goodly  sight." 

Olive  flushed  a  little,  once  more,  but  her  clear 
eyes  met  the  old  man 's  look  steadfastly. 


LOVE  IN  IDLENESS  77 

"You  are  young  yet,  I  think,  Mr.  Potter,— 
both  of  you,"  she  said  gently;  "young  in  your 
love  for  each  other.  And  that  's  the  most  im 
portant  of  all." 

The  white-bearded  old  man  smiled  approv 
ingly,  as  he  and  his  wife  came  out  into  the 
sunlight.  A  great  peace  was  in  his  face,  and 
his  hand  rested  fondly  upon  his  wife's  shoul 
der. 

* '  You  are  right,  my  daughter, ' '  he  said  very 
simply.  "And  the  Lord's  greatest  blessing  to 
me  is  that  in  that  regard  we  shall  never  grow 
old." 

The  two  still  stood  there,  the  hand  of  the 
one  on  the  shoulder  of  the  other,  as  Steve  and 
Olive  made  their  way  down  the  little  path  to 
the  boat. 

"Are  n't  they  dear?"  said  the  girl  mus 
ingly,  as  the  young  man  rowed  with  quiet 
strokes  toward  the  village  landing.  "It  's  like 
a  benediction  to  see  them  like  that,  Steve." 

"Yes,  it  is,"  he  assented  sincerely;  and  for 
the  remainder  of  the  short  row  they  were  both 
silent,  though  each  knew  that  the  other  under 
stood. 


VII 

THE  LAW  OF   CONTRACT 

IT  had  been  with  some  hesitation  that  hon 
est  old  Martin  Cass  of  Wollaston  had 
consented  to  build  Mr.  Harney's  new  house 
by  contract. 

"I  hain't  never  done  it  that  way,"  he  said 
dubiously.  "I  know  there.  '&  some  that  do; 
but  I  never  liked  the  idee." 

"That  's  the  way  I  want  it  done,"  said 
Mr.  Harney. 

"How  'm  I  goin'  to  tell  to  a  penny  jest 
how  it  's  comin'  out?"  argued  the  builder. 
"Nobody  kin.  It  's  allers  a  kind  of  a  guess. 
Either  you  '11  pay  too  much  or  I  '11  git  too 
little." 

"I  'm  not  likely  to  pay  too  much,"  Joel 
said  quietly. 

"I  'd  a  sight  ruther  build  by  day's  work. 
Then  I  know  what  I  'm  gittin'." 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  know  what  I'm  paying." 

"I  won't  cheat  ye,  Mr.  Harney." 

78 


THE  LAW  OF  CONTRACT  79 

The  other  smiled.  "I  'm  sure  of  that,  Mr. 
Cass.  We  all  know  your  reputation.  But  I 
have  a  good  deal  of  expense  and  responsi 
bility  just  now,  with  this  new  store  of  mine, 
and  I  have  to  see  my  way  very  plainly." 

"Lemme  do  it  on  a  percentage  basis  then," 
suggested  the  old  builder.  "We  can  agree  on 
a  limit.  That  's  fair  all  around." 

"No, "  said  Joel  positively.  "I  want  a  full 
contract,  to  cover  everything.  You  are  to  sub 
contract  for  the  mason-work,  plumbing  and 
painting." 

It  was  after  much  careful  and  anxious  fig 
uring  that  Mr.  Cass  finally  submitted  his  esti 
mate.  Mr.  Harney  examined  it  attentively. 

"That  will  do,  I  think,"  he  said.  "I  Ve 
had  a  couple  of  other  bids,  but  in  the  main 
yours  is  the  most  satisfactory." 

"I  would  n't  do  it  this  way  f'r  most  peo 
ple,"  rejoined  Mr.  Cass.  "I  feel  as  ef  my 
hands  was  tied  down.  But  I  Ve  known  you, 
an'  your  good  father  before  ye,  Mr.  Harney, 
an'  so  I  c'n  tell  who  I  'm  dealin'  with." 

' '  That  is  n  't  the  way  to  put  it,  exactly,  Mr. 
Cass.  You  must  deal  with  me  just  as  you 
would  deal  with  anyone.  Business  is  business. 
You  have  n't  put  in  the  time  and  penalty 
clauses,  I  see." 


80  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"I  did  n't  know  's  you  needed  'em.  I  hain't 
never  failed  to  finish  a  job  in  good,  prompt 
time.  You  need  n't  have  any  fears." 

"Neither  need  you,  then." 

"An'  you  want  it  down  in  writin'?" 

"Certainly." 

The  builder  considered.  "Well,  I  don' 
know  's  I  've  any  objection  to  that.  'T  wa'n't 
the  question  of  time  that  boggled  me  so  much. 
I  know  my  men;  they  've  all  worked  with  me 
f 'r  years." 

The  clause  was  added,  as  well  as  one  or  two 
more  which  Mr.  Harney  required;  and  in  a 
few  days,  work  was  commenced. 

It  was  a  choice  lot  which  Mr.  Harney  owned, 
—the  choicest  in  Prophet's  Landing.  He  had 
purchased  it  at  a  low  price,  years  before,  from 
a  neighbor  in  difficulties,  buying  it  partly  as 
a  good  bargain,  and  partly  with  an  eye  to  a 
time  in  the  future  when  he  might  be  prepared 
to  build  a  home  upon  it.  It  was  on  a  corner  of 
the  broad,  shady  main  street  of  the  village,  a 
little  below  the  centre  of  stores  and  traffic  and 
small  dwellings,  and  with  pleasant  glimpses 
through  trees  of  the  river  to  which  it  ex 
tended. 

The  summer  thus  proved  a  rather  busy  one 
in  building  operations  at  Prophet's  Landing. 


THE  LAW  OF  CONTRACT  81 

The  Harney  house  slowly  reared  its  skeleton 
frame  above  the  firm  brick  foundations ;  while, 
a  little  distance  up  the  river,  at  the  wharf,  the 
demolished  warehouse  was  giving  place  to 
Steve  Baird's  larger  structure. 

As  the  months  ran  on,  unexpected  disturb 
ances  developed  in  the  building  trade  through 
out  New  England.  It  was  one  of  the  years 
when  labor  was  restless.  The  financial  panic 
of  1873,  two  years  before,  had  forced  wide 
spread  cuts  in  wages  everywhere,  and  the 
hoped-for  "good  times"  showed  no  signs  as 
yet  of  returning.  Operatives  grew  discon 
tented,  claiming  that  capital  was  keeping 
wages  low  long  after  the  necessity  had  ceased ; 
and  the  discontent  broke  out  in  numerous 
strikes,  local  and  unorganized  but  none  the 
less  obstinate.  At  the  same  time,  for  some  un 
accountable  reason,  the  price  of  building  ma 
terials  was  rising  steadily.  The  trades  had 
not  experienced  such  troubled  conditions  since 
the  strain  of  the  period  which  followed  the 
crash  of  1857  and  which  extended  to  the  time 
of  the  Civil  War. 

Steve  Baird  soon  began  to  feel  the  trouble 
heavily.  His  step  lost  much  of  its  confident 
springiness.  He  had  made  no  blanket  con 
tract  for  his  building  work,  preferring  to  have 


82  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

his  builders  do  it  by  day's  labor,  and  trusting 
to  his  own  sagacity  and  to  the  experience  of 
his  friend  Captain  Prout,  to  obtain  better  re 
sults  by  this  means.  He  was  constantly  on  the 
spot,  watching,  directing,  and  often  aiding  in 
the  work  with  his  own  strong  arms.  Every 
ounce  and  inch  of  material  was  scrutinized, 
and  the  young  man  knew  that  everything  was 
being  done  to  the  best  possible  advantage. 
But  the  cost  was  mounting  steadily.  Steve 
went  over  the  figures  with  his  builders,  and 
found  that  their  statements  of  expense  were 
absolutely  correct.  Then  came  a  masons' 
strike,  which  delayed  matters,  not  only  on  this 
but  on  other  minor  work  in  the  village;  and 
before  this  strike  .was  settled,  one  arose  among 
the  carpenters ;  so  that  days  and  finally  weeks 
slipped  by  when  not  a  trowel  rang  its  metallic 
click  against  the  bricks,  and  no  cheerful  sound 
of  hammer  or  saw  resounded  within  the  un 
roofed  building. 

Poor  Steve  was  in  despair.  If  the  store 
house  were  not  finished  promptly,  the  whole  of 
the  autumn  traffic,  which  promised  to  be  large, 
would  be  hopelessly  lost.  Already  the  incon 
venience  had  been  felt  by  the  village  merchants 
and  those  of  Wollaston ;  and  Al  Thornton,  who 
had  shrewedly  perceived  the  opportunity,  had 
rented  a  disused  frame  house  near  the  wharf, 


THE  LAW  OF  CONTRACT  83 

and  had  proceeded  to  utilize  it  for  public  ware 
house  purposes.  Steve  perceived  that  it  would 
have  been  better  to  leave  the  old  building 
standing  and  build  the  new  one  to  adjoin  it; 
but  it  was  too  late  now.  He  did  not  for  a 
time  know  who  had  rented  the  frame  house 
near,  for  storage  purposes,  and  in  fact  did 
not  trouble  to  inquire,  being  too  dispirited, 
and  too  much  occupied  with  his  own  worries. 

The  Harney  family  was  away  on  a  summer 
trip  to  the  Massachusetts  coast,  and  Steve 
found  the  days  strangely  empty  without  Olive. 
There  was  no  one  with  whom  he  could  freely 
talk  save  Captain  Prout,  who  felt  the  keenest 
interest  and  sympathy  in  his  venture,  but  who 
could  not  aid  him  financially  beyond  a  certain 
small  amount.  At  length,  after  one  or  two 
desperate  interviews  in  Wollaston,  Steve  suc 
ceeded  in  borrowing  additional  money,  giving 
a  second  mortgage  at  a  ruinous  rate  of  in 
terest. 

When  Mr.  Harney  returned  home,  almost 
the  first  person  to  interview  him  was  old  Mar 
tin  Cass. 

* '  I  can 't  do  it,  Mr.  Harney, ' '  he  said  bluntly. 

"Do  what?" 

"Carry  out  that  contract.  Can't  afford  it. 
We  '11  have  to  make  it  over." 

"Make   it    over!"     Mr.    Harney    frowned. 


84 

"A  contract  is  a  contract.  What  's  the  diffi 
culty?" 

1 '  Drive  over  to  the  new  lot  with  me,  and  I  '11 
show  you.  My  wagon  's  just  outside. ' ' 

The  builder  drove  Mr.  Harney  to  the  partly 
finished  house,  and  they  went  over  it  thor 
oughly  together,  Mr.  Cass  explaining  fully 
the  obstacles  he  had  met,  and  going  into  care 
ful  figures. 

"So,  you  see,  it  '11  be  all  of  seventeen  hun 
dred  dollars  more,"  he  finished,  "and  it  's 
likely  to  run  to  two  thousand. ' ' 

"I  'm  sorry,  Mr.  Cass,"  responded  the 
other.  "We  did  n't  either  of  us  suppose  you 
were  likely  to  lose." 

"  'Course  not,"  said  the  builder  promptly. 
"An'  it  'd  have  come  out  all  right  as  I  fig- 
gered,  ef  it  had  n't  been  f 'r  the  rise  in  prices 
an'  these  trade  troubles." 

"Of  course  a  good  part  of  the  loss  falls  on 
your  sub-contractors. ' ' 

"I  did  n't  make  no  sub-contracts." 

"Wliat!"  exclaimed  Joel  Harney. 

"No,  I  ain't  used  to  that  way  of  workin'.  I 
went  over  it  with  the  masons  an'  plumbers  an' 
the  rest,  an'  found  out  what  they  cal'lated  on, 
an'  then  I  gave  you  my  estimate." 

"I  'm  sorry,"  said  Joel  again. 


THE  LAW  OF  CONTRACT  85 

"Yes,  so  'm  I.  But  you  '11  have  honest 
money's  worth,  ef  it  does  cost  ye  a  little 
more." 

"Cost  me?"  Mr.  Harney's  tone  was  cold. 
"How  is  it  going  to  cost  me  any  more1?" 

Mr.  Cass  stared. 

'  i  Have  n  't  I  jest  shown  ye  that  we  '11  have  to 
add  seventeen  hundred  to  the  estimate!"  he 
asked.  ' '  Nearer  two  thousand,  mebbe. ' ' 

"You  Ve  shown  me  a  probable  loss  to  that 
amount.  I  'm  sorry,  as  I  said.  But  I  can't 
see  how  it  affects  me. ' ' 

It  took  Mr.  Cass  a  moment  to  grasp  his 
meaning. 

"Do  y'  mean  ye  're  goin'  to  hold  me  to  that 
contract ! "  he  gasped. 

"Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Cass.    What  else?" 

The  builder  stared  again.  "But  I  can't 
afford  it,"  he  said  simply.  "Seventeen  hun 
dred  dollars  ain't  much  to  some  people,  but  it 's 
a  lot  to  me.  I  Ve  had  some  private  losses, 
this  last  year,  an'  my  wife  's  been  sick,  an' 
so,  the  fact  is,  I  Ve  been  gittin'  kind  o' 
pinched.  I  might  help  ye  out  a  little  by  rig- 
germ  '  a  trifle  closer  on  my  profits ;  but  that  's 
all  I  c'n  do." 

"Mr.  Cass,"  said  Mr.  Harney's  incisive 
voice,  "I  explained  to  you  at  the  beginning 


86  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

that  I  wanted  to  see  my  way  exactly  in  this 
matter  before  we  began.  That  's  why  we  made 
the  contract.  That  's  what  a  contract  is  for. 
You  were  to  take  whatever  risk  there  was. ' ' 

"Not  these  kind  o'  risks,— strikes  an'  high 
prices,  that  nobody  looked  fur,"  objected  the 
other. 

"Every  kind  of  risk.  If  there  's  any  loss, 
it  '11  have  to  fall  on  you.  I  '11  abide  squarely 
by  the  contract." 

Mr.  Cass  looked  at  him  a  moment  helplessly. 
Slowly  his  face  grew  hard. 

"Then  ye  're  playin'  the  devil's  game,  after 
all,  Joel  Harney,"  he  said  bitterly.  "I  've 
heerd  folks  say  so,  but  I  did  n't  b'lieve  'em.  I 
warn  ye  ye  're  losin'  more  'n  I  am  by  it." 

Mr.  Harney  was  coldly  silent. 

"Not  money,  I  don't  mean,"  went  on  the 
other,  growing  more  aroused  as  he  talked. 
"But  things  that  mean  more  'n  money,— 
things  in  y'r  own  natur',  that  a  man  's  got  to 
keep  ef  he  's  goin '  to  be  a  good  man,  the  kind 
o'  man  y'r  father  was.  I  hain't  happened  to 
have  much  experience  with  this  way  of  doin', 
somehow.  I  know  it  's  reg'lar  an*  common, 
down  in  the  cities,  but  at  Wollaston  we  've 
allers  done  business  in  a  fair  an'  easy,  give 
an'  take  way,  as  man  to  man,  an'  without 


THE  LAW  OF  CONTRACT  87 

lookin'  f'r  advantage.  An'  it  's  a  sight  better 
an'  fairer  way,  too." 

Mr.  Harney  threw  back  look  for  look  un 
yieldingly. 

"I  shall  look  to  you  to  carry  out  your  con 
tract,  in  the  time  and  under  the  penalties 
specified, ' '  was  all  he  said. 

Mr.  Cass's  eyes  blazed,  and  his  manner 
grew  more  excited. 

"I  '11  do  it,"  he  said  vehemently.  "I  '11 
stand  to  it,  and  I  '11  shoulder  the  loss.  An' 
every  stick  an '  brick  I  put  in  will  be  as  perfect 
as  I  c'n  git  'em.  But  I  would  n't  want  to  live 
behind  'em  in  your  place." 

"I  think  that  's  all,  Mr.  Cass,"  the  other 
said,  unperturbed.  "I  won't  trouble  you  to 
drive  me  back  to  the  house." 

''Folk  '11  know  about  this,  Mr.  Harney; 
I  '11  tell  'em,"  warned  the  older  man.  "It  's 
well  they  sh'd  know,  so  they  won't  git  into  the 
same  box." 

"Why  should  n't  they  know?"  returned  the 
merchant  contemptuously,  as  he  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left. 

The  indignant  Mr.  Cass  was  as  good  as  his 
word,  and  before  many  days  people  in  Proph 
et's  Landing  knew  that  the  builder  was 
likely  to  lose  heavily  on  his  contract.  The 


88  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

news  reached  Mrs.  Harney,  and  she  took  it 
directly  to  her  husband. 

"I  can't  make  it  seem  right,  Joel,"  she  said 
with  troubled  voice.  ' '  Why  should  we  take  ad 
vantage  of  another's  misfortunes!" 

"There  's  no  taking  advantage,  my  dear," 
answered  her  husband,  a  little  irritably.  "It  's 
a  perfectly  plain  affair  of  business." 

"Business!"  she  repeated.  "Why  should 
business  be  different  from  other  things  ?  Why 
should  it  harden  men?  It  is  hardening  you, 
Joel."  She  looked  at  him,  while  tears  stood 
in  her  eyes. 

"Nonsense!"  he  rejoined.  "Am  I  any  dif 
ferent  with  you  and  the  children?" 

1 '  No,  you  are  not,  and  I  am  glad  with  all  my 
heart.  Promise  me  you  '11  never  be." 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  affectionately. 

"It  's  a  safe  promise,  Ellen,"  he  said  smil 
ing.  "What  would  I  do  or  be  without  you 
all?" 

"But,  Joel,  about  Mr.  Cass?"  she  pleaded. 

' '  My  dear,  if  necessary,  I  am  willing  to  give 
you  the  seventeen  hundred  dollars  he  says  he  's 
going  to  lose,  and  you  can  use  it  for  charity 
or  in  any  way  you  like.  But  this  contract  is  a 
different  matter.  If  I  opened  the  door  to  such 
undoing  of  fair  agreements,  my  business 
would  n't  last  ten  days." 


THE  LAW  OF  CONTRACT  89 

"I  don't  see  why,"  she  said  uncompre- 
hendingly. 

Mr.  Harney's  eye  fell  upon  the  dress  she 
wore.  He  reached  out  his  hand  and  examined 
the  fabric. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said.  "That  dress  you 
have  on  represents  part  of  a  heavy  loss  to  a 
Lowell  manufacturer  that  you  never  heard  the 
very  name  of." 

' '  How  was  that  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"It  's  part  of  a  lot  that  he  was  caught  on, 
last  fall,  and  had  to  sacrifice.  There  was  a  fire 
in  the  mills,  and  he  had  to  have  money  at 
once.  I  gave  a  cash  order  for  some  of  the 
stock." 

She  looked  down  at  the  dress  with  a  new  and 
puzzled  interest. 

"Everyone  that  bought  any  of  the  consign 
ment,— some  of  it  came  to  me,  some  went  to  the 
other  stores  in  Wollaston,  some  went  to  Al 
bany  and  Troy  and  Hartford  and  Boston,  I 
daresay,— every  woman  wearing  any  of  those 
goods  because  she  got  it  cheap,  is  taking  ad 
vantage  of  the  Lowell  manufacturer's  mis 
fortune." 

"Oh,  Joel!"  she  said,  startled. 

"Don't  you  see,  my  dear,  that  business  is 
a  thing  by  itself?  I  'm  expected  to  carry  out 
my  contracts  and  make  my  payments  to  the 


90  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

letter.  And  I  have  to  expect  others  to  carry 
out  theirs." 

"Is  it  worth  it,  Joel?"  she  asked  timidly. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  understand  you." 

"Is  it  worth  it  to  lose— I  don't  know  how  to 
put  it— things  in  one's  own  nature,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  curious  echo  of  Martin  Cass's  own 
words.  "Would  your  father  have  done  quite 
the  same  ? ' ' 

"Affairs  themselves  were  n't  the  same  in 
father's  day,"  replied  he.  "The  difference 
is  n't  between  father  and  me,  I  think;  but  be 
tween  his  times  and  ours." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"There  was  business  then,  Joel,  just  as 
there  is  now.  I  Ve  often  heard  your  father 
talk  of  competition  and  of  other  people's  un 
derselling  him.  But  you  know  what  he  was." 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  Ve  changed?"  he 
demanded. 

"Yes,  I  do,  Joel.  You  won't  mind  if  I  tell 
you  so?  Husband  and  wife  ought  to  talk 
frankly.  You  're  just  the  same  with  all  of  us 
here  at  home,  but  outside  there  's  a  difference. 
I  see  it  and  I  hear  of  it.  And  I  can't  tell  you 
how  it  worries  me  sometimes." 

"Who  's  been  talking  to  you  about  things 
they  don't  understand?"  he  inquired  harshly. 


THE  LAW  OF  CONTRACT  91 

'  *  Some  of  the  sewing-circle  old  women,  I  '11  be 
bound." 

"It  is  n't  anyone  in  particular,"  she  re 
sponded.  "I  don't  even  remember  that  I  Ve 
ever  heard  anything  directly.  But  it  's  in  the 
air.  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean,  though  I 
don't  seem  to  explain  it  very  well." 

"Well,  well,  Ellen,"  her  husband  said,  recol 
lecting  himself  and  recovering  his  good  humor, 
' '  I  think  we  can  afford  to  let  folks  talk  without 
getting  uneasy.  I  Ve  made  a  little  money,  and 
there  are  always  people  to  be  envious  of  that. 
As  long  as  you  and  I  know  that  I  don't  beat 
my  wife,— 

"Why,  Joel!"  she  protested,  shocked. 

He  smiled.  "You  always  take  one  so  liter 
ally,  Ellen!"  He  put  his  hand  fondly  on  her 
shoulder,  as  Olive  and  Steve  had  seen  Elder 
Potter  put  his  hand  on  his  wife 's  shoulder,  that 
sunny  afternoon  in  June.  ' '  Well,  then,  as  long 
as  you  keep  on  caring  for  me,— and  you  do, 
don't  you?" 

"Yes,  Joel,"  she  answered,  almost  as  shyly 
as  when  he  had  first  asked  her  that  dear  ques 
tion,  so  many  years  before. 

"Then  I  shan't  worry  very  much  about 
changing.  You  Ve  been  brooding  a  little, 
that  's  all."  He  kissed  her  again,  and  for  a 


92  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

little  they  stood  there  together  in  quiet,  his 
hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"But,  Joel,"  she  pursued  hesitatingly,— 
about  Mr.  Cass." 

"That  's  a  question  of  business,  my  dear," 
he  returned,  with  a  certain  definiteness.  "And 
you  '11  have  to  leave  questions  of  business 
to  me." 


VIII 

NEW    AND    OLD    EOADS 

MARTIN  CASS  held  grimly  to  his  work, 
and  pressed  the  completion  of  the  new 
house  by  every  means  in  his  power.  He  and 
Mr.  Harney  often  met  on  the  premises,  but 
the  builder  made  the  intercourse  of  the  brief 
est.  He  had  evidently  formed  in  his  mind  a 
deep  distrust,  even  disdain,  of  Mr.  Harney,  and 
took  little  pains  to  hide  it.  Joel  could  not  but 
perceive  this  fact.  It  did  not  alter  his  atti 
tude  or  acts  in  the  slightest  degree.  Yet  it 
affected  him.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  whether 
he  felt  annoyance  or  a  vague  discomfort.  He 
was  not  used  to  censure,  expressed  or  implied. 
Years  of  progressive  business  success  had 
made  him  feel  secure  from  it,  though,  as  he 
now  found',  only  in  a  measure  indifferent  to  it. 
The  house  was  not  completed  within  the  time 
called  for  by  the  contract,  but  that  was  no  fault 
of  old  Cass's,  who  had  pushed  matters  unre 
mittingly.  He  had  paid  whatever  prices  were 

93 


94  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

demanded,  both  for  work  and  materials,  had 
settled  strikes  by  increased  wages,  had  spent 
himself  unceasingly  in  forwarding  the  work 
of  the  plumbers  and  painters.  A  certain  fierce 
pride  had  taken  hold  of  him,  as  of  one  who 
would  ask  no  more  favors.  His  whole  manner 
seemed  changed. 

It  was  two  months  after  the  appointed  date 
when  he  finally  turned  over  the  completed 
building  to  its  owner.  The  statement  of  ac 
count  which  he  presented  on  the  same  day  con 
tained  the  agreed  deduction  in  price  to  be 
forfeited  by  him  for  each  of  the  sixty  days' 
delay,  as  stipulated  in  the  penalty  clause  of 
the  contract. 

Mr.  Harney  sent  him  an  immediate  check  for 
the  balance  due,  without  comment. 

The  family  was  not  to  move  in  at  once,  it 
being  deemed  wise  to  wait  until  the  walls  and 
plaster  were  thoroughly  dry. 

"I  don't  feel  like  moving  in  at  all,  somehow, 
Joel,"  said  Mrs.  Harney,  who  had  of  late 
been  rather  depressed  in  manner.  ''I  never 
really  cared  to  leave  this  house,  to  begin  with. 
And  now  this  trouble  with  Mr.  Cass  has  made 
me  almost  hate  the  new  place." 

"Mr.  Cass  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  ques 
tion,"  said  her  husband  impatiently.  "He  's 


NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS  95 

done  his  part ;  I  Ve  done  mine.  We  're  quits. 
I  'm  satisfied;  if  he  is  n't,  I  can't  help  it." 

"You  don't  know  how  I  dread  changing," 
she  said  again. 

"Why  so?" 

' '  It  seems  as  if  it  was  founded  on  a  wrong. ' ' 

"Lord,  Ellen!"  he  broke  out;  "if  you  and 
I  are  going  about  to  right  all  the  wrongs  in 
life,  we  ought  to  have  begun  at  Genesis. 
Wrongs'?  The  world  's  full  of  'em,  I  suppose, 
if  you  look  at  it  that  way.  But  we  can 't  right 
them  all.  Don't  blame  me;  blame  the  Cre 
ator." 

"Why,  Joel!"  exclaimed  she,  amazed  and 
offended. 

"There  are  wrongs  everywhere.  A  cat 
wrongs  a  mouse  when  she  takes  its  life.  It  's 
in  the  structure  of  things.  You  take  that  house 
question.  Either  Cass  or  I  had  to  lose,  say,  a 
couple  of  thousand  dollars.  A  fair  and  square 
agreement  made  him  lose  it,  not  I." 

'  *  Perhaps  he  needs  the  money  more  than  we 
do,"  she  ventured. 

"For  every  dollar  we  have,  there  's  some 
body  somewhere  that  needs  it  more  than  we 
do,"  he  retorted.  "Where  would  you  stop, 
short  of  my  doing  hod-carrying  and  your  tak 
ing  in  washing  in  a  shanty?" 


96  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

''I  'm  not  good  at  arguing  in  business  mat 
ters,  Joel,"  she  returned.  "But  I  can't  feel 
that  it  's  right,  and  nothing  you  can  say  would 
make  me  feel  so." 

"You  '11  like  the  house  well  enough,  once 
you  're  in  it,  you  '11  find,"  said  he.  "And  as 
for  Cass,  he  '11  make  up  that  two  thousand  dol 
lars  on  the  first  innocent  he  finds." 

"No,  he  will  not.  All  men  don't  think  the 
same  as  you  do,"  replied  his  wife,  with  a  sud 
den  sting  in  her  usually  mild  voice,  as  she  left 
the  room. 

As  Joel  drove  in  to  Wollaston,  that  morn 
ing,  his  thoughts  were  on  a  coming  interview 
with  the  bank  president,  and  his  wife's  un 
expected  words  held  little  place  in  his  memory. 
An  important  project  was  under  consideration. 
This  was  the  construction  of  a  short  railroad 
branch  from  Wollaston  to  Prophet's  Landing. 
Mr.  Harney  had  long  wished  to  see  this  built. 
His  instinct  told  him  unmistakably  that  it 
would  be  a  highly  profitable  undertaking.  The 
traffic  to  Wollaston  by  way  of  the  Landing  had 
languished  since  the  main  line  of  the  rail 
road  had  gone  through,  north  and  south. 
Harney  believed  that  this  traffic  was  capable 
of  considerable  development.  He  himself  had 
experimented  with  the  matter  in  connection 


NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS  97 

with  his  new  store,  and  the  experiment  had 
proved  so  satisfactory  that  other  town  mer 
chants  had  had  their  eyes  opened  and  several 
had  followed  his  example.  With  a  line  of  rails, 
the  route  could  be  made  a  very  important 
feeder.  Wollaston  was  growing  steadily,  and 
the  freight  rates  on  the  main  line  were  not 
lessening  but  rather  increasing,  while  the  rates 
by  water  were  always  low.  The  railroad  com 
pany  had  no  objection  to  the  building  of  a 
branch.  It  was  entirely  willing  to  act  in  har 
mony  with  such  an  extension,  giving  terminal 
conveniences  and  the  advantages  of  mutual 
traffic  agreements ;  but  it  did  not  care  to  under 
take  the  enterprise  on  its  own  account.  For 
the  past  year  Mr.  Harney  had  been  active  in 
advocating  the  formation  of  a  subsidiary  cor 
poration  to  build  this  three-mile  feeder;  and 
he  had  gradually  succeeded  in  interesting  capi 
tal.  The  new  store  in  Wollaston  had  latterly 
brought  him  into  growing  financial  promi 
nence,  and  he  found  his  ideas  and  suggestions 
listened  to  with  increasing  respect  and  atten 
tion. 

Mr.  Pierce,  the  president  of  the  local  bank, 
was  now  fully  committed  to  the  project,  and 
Mr.  Harney  and  he  had  had  frequent  inter 
views  and  consultations  on  the  important 


98  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

subject.  The  bank  arranged  to  finance  the 
venture.  Officials  among  the  main  railroad's 
board  of  directors  were  found  willing  to  invest 
personally,  as  also  several  leading  business 
men  in  Wollaston  itself;  and  a  large  block  of 
the  stock  was  to  be  disposed  of  by  popular  sub 
scription.  When  Mr.  Harney  left  the  bank, 
that  morning,  after  a  long  interview  with  Mr. 
Pierce,  he  had  learned  with  satisfaction  that 
arrangements  had  been  completed,  that  the 
charter  had  been  obtained,  and  that  work  was 
to  be  started  as  soon  as  practicable. 

This  announcement  interested  Prophet's 
Landing  keenly.  It  held  great  promise  for  the 
sleepy  little  village,  which  at  once  awoke  into 
anticipatory  activity.  The  branch  railroad, 
which  might  be  counted  upon  to  follow  the  line 
of  least  resistance  near  the  main  highway, 
would  add  to  the  value  of  land  all  along  the 
route,  and  the  prices  of  the  tracts  thus  for 
tunately  situated  rose  promptly  in  expectation. 
Several  properties  changed  hands.  The  vil 
lage  itself  took  on  new  life.  Everyone  beamed 
on  Mr.  Harney,  who  was  regarded  as  the 
father  of  the  enterprise  and  as  a  general  bene 
factor. 

Steve  Baird  was  jubilant.  A  line  of  rails 
piercing  to  the  wharf  at  the  river 's  edge  meant 


NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS  99 

vast  things  for  his  new  warehouse,— that  fi 
nally  completed  building,  which,  little  to  be 
used  now  till  the  cold  weather  should  be  past, 
held  every  dollar  of  his  hopeful  fortunes  locked 
in  its  cold  brick  arms.  Whether  the  railroad 
bought  it,  or  was  content  simply  to  make  use 
of  it,  he  saw  a  safe  profit.  And  so  his  step  re 
covered  its  springiness,  and  he  half  uncon 
sciously  beamed  on  Mr.  Harney  with  the  rest. 

"I  wonder  Joel  himself  hain't  made  any 
purchases  along  the  line,"  speculated  Ezra 
McNamara,  in  another  chat  with  Jim  Briggs 
in  the  latter 's  little  watch-store. 

"Oh,  well,  I  guess  he  's  got  enough  other 
affairs  to  look  after,"  Jim  answered,  screw 
ing  his  optician's  glass  into  his  eye  as  he  bent 
over  his  work-table  to  adjust  a  balance-wheel. 
"He  's  willin'  to  leave  some  o'  the  plums  to 
the  rest  of  us." 

"You  been  buyin'  any  land?"  inquired  his 
caller  pointedly. 

"No,  not  exactly."  Jim  grinned.  "I  've 
got  enough  other  affairs  to  look  after,  too. 
But  some  have." 

"  'T  ain't  only  close  along  the  line,"  re 
marked  Mr.  McNamara.  "It  seems  to  have 
started  up  reel  estate  all  about.  Why,  there  's 
been  some  buyin'  an'  sellin'  even  up  as  fur 


100  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

as  the  ol'  road  by  Haines'  Woods,  a  mile  north, 
—the  one  that  comes  'round  by  the  P'int. 
Now  what  on  airth  d'  ye  suppose  a  body  'd 
want  to  snap  up  land  as  fur  as  that  for!" 

"Don'  know,  I  'm  sure."  Mr.  Briggs  was 
unimaginative,  and  did  not  spend  his  strength 
in  vague  mental  conjectures.  "Who  's  been 
doin'  it!" 

' '  Nobody  that  anybody  seems  to  know  about. 
Well,  Joel  's  doin'  a  good  thing  f 'r  the  village, 
anyway. ' ' 

"That  's  true  enough,"  said  Jim.  "Ef  I 
c'd  collect  some  o'  the  little  accounts  folks  are 
allers  owin'  me,  I  'd  buy  a  share  or  two  o' 
that  stock." 

"Lots  o'  folks  're  doin'  it,"  assented  Mr. 
McNamara. 

' '  They  do  say  it  '11  double  in  a  year  or  so, ' ' 
Jim  went  on. 

"I  guess  likely.  Joel  Harney  knows  what 
he  's  doin '.  It  's  safe  to  f  oiler  where  he  leads, 
you  c'n  bet.  My  wife,  she  's  goin'  to  take  that 
two  hunderd  dollars  her  Uncle  Wells  left  her, 
an'  buy  a  couple  o'  shares  on  her  own  ac 
count."  Mr.  McNamara  spoke  with  some 
pride,  realizing  that  even  if  he  did  not  have 
ready  money,  it  was  a  cause  for  complacency 
that  his  wife  should  have. 


NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS  101 

Mr.  Harney  did  not  evince  any  sense  of  sat 
isfaction  in  his  neighbors'  general  approval. 
Of  late  he  had  come  to  withdraw  himself  more 
and  more  from  the  friendly  intercourse  of  the 
village  street.  As  his  circle  of  business  ac 
quaintances  and  connections  in  Wollaston 
broadened,  he  seemed  to  be  less  a  part  of  the 
smaller  circle  of  familiar  friends  in  Prophet's 
Landing.  More  and  more  he  kept  his  own 
counsel,  and  appeared  less  concerned  in  the 
personal  affairs  of  those  whom  he  had  so  long 
known.  One  would  have  said  that  they  were 
ceasing  to  be  individuals  to  him,  and  becoming 
only  counters  in  the  great  game  of  life  which 
he  was  learning  to  play  with  increasing  skill 
and  absorption.  Only  within  his  own  family 
he  was  unchanged ;  devoted  to  them  all,  and  in 
stantly  interested  in  all  that  interested  them. 
Olive  he  praised,  and  Josie  he  petted ;  while  in 
Jay,  his  son  and  heir,  his  intensest  hopes  were 
centred. 

Albert  Thornton  now  had  his  lodgings  in 
Wollaston,  where  he  held  the  management  of 
the  new  store ;  but  he  frequently  came  over  to 
the  Landing  for  an  evening  call  at  the  Har- 
neys'  or  a  Sunday  supper.  In  this  he  had 
the  manifest  welcome  of  Mr.  Harney,  who,  a 
little  vain  of  his  knowledge  of  men,  openly 


102  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

predicted  a  successful  career  for  the  quiet, 
inscrutable  young  man.  One  Saturday,  af 
ter  the  mid-day  dinner,  Mr.  Harney  said  to 
Olive: 

' '  Thornton  's  going  to  drive  over,  this  after 
noon,  to  try  that  new  chestnut  he  's  bought.  I 
told  him  to  stop  and  take  you  for  a  ride." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  quickly. 

"Why  did  n't  you  ask  me  about  it?"  she 
questioned. 

"There  was  n't  any  opportunity.  She  's  a 
good  mare,  though  not  fast.  You  '11  enjoy  it." 

"I  don't  think  I  want  to  go,"  she  said. 

Her  father  frowned.  l '  I  told  him  you  would, 
so  I  think  you  'd  better,"  he  returned. 

1 '  Steve  and  I  were  going  nutting. ' ' 

"That  's  about  the  level  of  Steve's  accom 
plishments,"  he  observed  caustically. 

"Father!"  remonstrated  the  girl.  "I  don't 
like  to  have  you  talk  of  Steve  in  that  way. 
You  don't  half  know  him." 

"I  knew  his  father,— always  at  the  corner 
saloon.  What  can  you  expect  from  the  son?" 

Olive  flushed  in  a  tumult  of  resentment,  but 
she  forbore  making  Steve  the  subject  of  argu 
ment.  "Did  you  know  Mr.  Thornton's  fa 
ther  1 ' '  she  asked. 

"Never  heard  of  him.    But  I  know  Thornton 


NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS  103 

himself.  That  's  enough  for  me.  He  's  good, 
shrewd  stock,  you  can  depend  upon  it. ' ' 

"I  'm  sure  of  the  'shrewd',''  sne  gave  back, 
a  little  maliciously.  ; '  Well,  papa,  I  '11  go  driv 
ing,  since  you  promised  for  me ;  but  after  this, 
please  let  me  accept  or  decline  for  myself. ' ' 

Thornton  appeared  at  the  hour  arranged, 
and  the  two  drove  off  in  the  direction  of 
Haines'  Woods.  For  some  time  little  was 
said.  Thornton  was  not  a  talkative  person, 
and  Olive  made  no  special  efforts  to  sustain 
the  conversation.  Finally  she  said: 

"You  seem  to  be  much  interested  in  looking 
at  all  this  land,  Mr.  Thornton.  I  can 't  see  any 
thing  very  pretty  along  this  part  of  the  road. ' ' 

He  smiled  secretively. 

"No,  you  probably  would  n't,  Miss  Olive," 
he  answered.  "I  find  it  rather  interesting." 

i  l  Do  you  often  drive  along  here  ? ' ' 

"Often."  He  checked  himself.  "That  is, 
occasionally." 

"Some  one  was  telling  me,  the  other  day, 
that  the  old  Burnham  farm  we  're  coming  to 
had  been  sold  just  lately,"  pursued  the  girl, 
more  to  make  a  little  talk  than  from  any  real 
interest  in  the  topic.  "Two  or  three  other 
tracts  along  here  too.  Do  you  know  who  have 
been  buying  them ! ' ' 


104  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

He  gave  her  a  swift,  furtive  glance. 

' ' No,  not  at  all, ' '  he  said.  "I  've  heard  some 
talk  of  the  kind,  but  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it." 

There  was  another  silence.  Thornton,  when 
with  Olive,  always  seemed  selfishly  contented 
in  merely  being  near  her,  and  made  little  effort 
to  entertain  her.  The  combination  of  retiring- 
ness  and  self-satisfaction  which  showed  in  his 
manner  never  failed  to  affect  the  girl  repel- 
lently. 

' '  She  's  a  good  mare,  I  think, ' '  he  said  pres 
ently.  "She  pulls  hard,  though.  I  ought  to 
have  put  on  the  curb  bit." 

"Have  you  had  her  out  before?" 

"Once  only,  and  that  was  in  the  town.  But 
I  knew  she  had  a  hard  mouth.  It  's  not  much 
of  a  fault." 

"I  suppose  you  don't  get  much  time  for 
driving." 

"Not  as  much  as  I  wish  I  had,"  he  re 
sponded  meaningly.  "The  store  's  doing  more 
than  we  ever  looked  for.  Still,  I  often  half 
wish  I  was  back  again,  living  in  the  Landing. ' ' 

Olive  made  no  response  to  this,  and  they 
drove  on  along  the  edge  of  the  great  belt  of 
woods  at  the  north,  finally  coming  out  at  a 
fork  in  the  road,  the  left  hand  tine  of  which 


NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS  105 

led  to  Wollaston,  while  the  other  adventured 
farther  into  the  open  country.  They  took  the 
latter,  occupying  an  hour  or  more  in  making 
a  circuit  of  familiar  roads  and  lanes,  and 
finally  returning  to  the  main  route  by  which 
they  had  come. 

1  '  What  a  pretty  bush  of  sumac ! ' '  remarked 
Olive,  as  they  passed  along  the  wood  road  once 
more,  on  the  way  home.  ' '  I  always  love  those 
brilliant  colors." 

"I  '11  get  a  bunch  for  you,"  said  Thornton, 
pulling  hard  on  the  reins  and  finally  stopping. 
' '  George !  this  mare  pulls !  Just  hold  the  lines 
a  minute,  please." 

He  stepped  down  from  the  high  buggy,  and 
went  over  to  the  straggling  fence  at  the  side 
of  the  road.  As  he  did  so,  the  mare  started  im 
patiently  on.  The  reins  were  unexpectedly 
pulled  from  Olive's  hand,  and  before  she  could 
recover  them,  the  chestnut  had  taken  the  bit  in 
her  teeth  and  was  moving  briskly  down  the 
road. 

' '  Hi,  there !  stop  her ! ' '  cried  Thornton,  turn 
ing  from  his  quest  and  starting  after  the  mov 
ing  vehicle.  "Pull  on  the  lines,  Miss  Olive!" 

Olive  had  caught  up  the  reins  again,  and 
was  already  pulling  very  hard',  but  to  no  pur 
pose.  She  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  laughter, 


106  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

which  was  accentuated  as  she  looked  back 
for  an  instant  and  beheld  the  usually  sedate 
Thornton  hurrying  excitedly  after  her,  yet  be 
ing  left  far  in  the  rear.  Olive  was  a  skillful 
driver,  and  she  was  not  in  the  least  afraid. 
The  animal  was  not  precisely  running  away, 
although  it  was  traveling  very  fast.  There 
was  no  danger.  Only  she  could  not  check  the 
speed  in  the  least  degree,  and  they  were  two 
miles  from  Prophet's  Landing.  She  was  quite 
helpless,  yet  the  knowledge  of  this  seemed  to 
make  her  laugh  the  more,  even  while  she  trem 
bled  a  little.  The  drive  had  been  a  dull  one, 
and  perhaps  she  felt  an  instinctive  relief 
at  this  sudden  interruption  of  the  companion 
ship. 

"Saw  the  reins!"  cried  Thornton  again, 
his  voice  sounding  more  faintly  in  the  distance. 

Miss  Harney  sawed,  and  likewise  tugged, 
but  wholly  without  effect.  Still  she  felt  no 
alarm.  Her  cheeks  grew  pink  with  the  excite 
ment  and  effort,  and  she  sat  straight,  with  in 
tent  and  eager  face,  using  every  device  she 
knew  to  halt  the  inexorable  mare. 

She  threw  another  glance  over  her  shoulder, 
and  had  a  last  look  at  Thornton,  far  behind 
and  rapidly  disappearing  from  sight.  She 
laughed  again. 


NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS  107 

'How  mad  he  must  be!"  she  thought.  "I 
wonder  whether  it  's  at  the  mare  or  at  me." 

The  animal  was  under  control  as  far  as  guid 
ing  was  concerned,  and  Olive  handled  her  skill 
fully.  The  buggy  sped  along  the  rather  nar 
row  road,  and  Olive  knew  that  in  a  few  minutes 
they  would  come  out  at  the  Point  where  the 
Potters  lived,  and  where  the  road  turned  to  the 
right  along  the  river  bank. 

Suddenly,  not  far  ahead,  she  saw  a  man's 
muscular  figure  climb  the  fence  from  the 
Haines'  Woods  belt  adjoining,  carrying  a 
small  sack  over  his  shoulder.  At  the  same 
moment  the  man  caught  sight  of  the  approach 
ing  buggy,  with  the  girl  pulling  vainly  on  the 
reins.  Dropping  the  bag,  he  ran  along  the 
road  toward  the  carriage,  and  as  the  mare 
came  determinedly  though  not  very  swiftly 
on,  he  shot  out  his  hand  at  the  bridle-rein  and 
brought  her  to  an  imperative  stop. 

"Oh,  Steve!"  cried  Olive,  leaning  forward 
in  relief  yet  in  concern;  "are  you  hurt?" 

"Who,— I?     Of  course  not.    Are  you?" 

"Not  a  bit."  The  excitement  over,  she 
laughed  anew,  a  little  hysterically. 

"What  's  happened?  Where  's  Thornton?" 
demanded  Baird,  with  a  savage  jerk  at  the 
bridle  as  the  mare  made  an  attempt  to  go  on. 


108  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"Your  mother  said  he  had  come  to  take  you 
driving,  so  I  went  off  for  some  nuts  alone. ' ' 

Olive  explained.  "Lead  the  mare  on  till 
you  can  pick  up  your  bag,"  she  said.  "Then 
turn  around  and  we  '11  drive  back  for  Mr. 
Thornton." 

"Confound  Thornton!"  retorted  Steve,  as 
he  led  the  animal  on  down  the  road  until  he 
could  pick  up  the  sack  of  nuts.  ;  l  Let  him  walk. 
He  ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  leave 
you  alone  in  the  buggy  when  he  had  a  new 
horse. ' ' 

"He  did  n't  think  she  was  going  to  run," 
answered  Olive.  "Turn  around,  Steve,  dear, 
and  drive  me  back ;  there  's  a  good  boy. ' ' 

The  young  man's  angry  look  gave  place  to 
one  of  sudden  radiance  as  he  heard  the  acci 
dental  word  which  the  girl  was  evidently 
wholly  unconscious  of  using.  Backing  the 
buggy,  he  turned  it  in  the  other  direction; 
then  throwing  in  the  bag,  he  sprang  in  beside 
Olive,  grasped  the  reins,  and  drove  off  rapidly 
back  along  the  road. 

1 l  If  she  was  my  horse,  I  'd  give  her  the  whip 
good  and  hard,"  he  said.  "Well,  I  'm  glad 
you  're  all  right,  Ollie;  you  might  have  been 
in  a  fix  if  she  'd  really  taken  a  notion  to  run. ' ' 
One  of  his  hands  left  the  reins  and  found  its 


NEW  AND  OLD  ROADS  109 

way  to  hers,  which  it  clasped  protectingly ;  and 
the  girl  did  not  withdraw  her  own. 

1 1  There  he  is, ' '  said  Steve,  as  they  discerned 
a  far-off  figure  hurrying  toward  them.  "Out 
of  breath,  and  out  of  temper  too,  I  guess. 
Hullo,  Thornton,"  he  went  on  bluffly,  as  they 
drove  up;  "here  's  your  horse  and  buggy  de 
livered  in  good  order  and  condition,  with 
contents  as  stated.  Please  acknowledge  re 
ceipt,  and  oblige  yours  truly." 

Thornton  scowled,  as  much  doubtless  at 
finding  the  two  together  as  at  this  ill-timed 
pleasantry.  He  was  out  of  breath  with  his 
long  run,  and  had  evidently  been  feeling  very 
anxious. 

i  i  Did  you  get  hurt,  Miss  Olive  1 "  he  panted, 
hurrying  to  the  side  of  the  buggy. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  she  replied  reassuringly. 
"It  was  n't  really  a  runaway,  you  know;  only 
I  could  n  't  stop. ' ' 

"That  's  it,"  added  Steve,  springing  out 
with  his  bag  and  hastening  to  the  mare 's  head. 
"Get  in  and  I  '11  turn  you." 

Thornton  hesitated;  his  look  was  not 
friendly. 

"I  'm  glad  it  's  all  right,  of  course,"  he 
said.  "I  suppose  I  ought  n't  to  have  left  you 
alone  in  the  buggy.  You  need  n't  get  out, 


110  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

Baird;  there  's  room  for  three,  if  Miss  Olive 
does  n't  mind." 

"Much  obliged,"  responded  Steve  curtly. 
"I  'd  rather  walk.  I  was  out  tramping  any 
way.  Get  in." 

The  other  plainly  resented  the  peremptory 
tone,  but  he  stepped  into  the  vehicle,  and  Steve 
turned  it  again. 

' i  I  have  n  't  half  thanked  you,  Steve, ' '  called 
Olive  gratefully.  "I  suppose  I  rather  took  it 
for  granted. ' ' 

"That  's  better  yet,"  the  young  man  called 
back,  as  the  mare  started.  His  eyes  followed 
the  buggy  as  it  moved  speedily  on  before  him, 
and  he  began  to  whistle  cheerfully. 


IX 


LINKS  AND  CHAINS 

"TTTELL,  ef  you  asked  me,  Josie,"  said 

W       Zenas  Finlay  deliberatively,  "I  sh'd 
call  it  jest  tarnal  tomfoolery." 

Zenas  was  standing  at  the  front  gate  of  his 
farmstead,  which  lay  at  the  beginning  of  the 
main  highway  leading  to  Wollaston.  With  him 
were  his  daughter  Bessie,  and  Josie  Harney 
who  had  come  over  to  see  her.  The  three  were 
watching  the  movements  of  a  small  party  of 
surveyors  in  the  field  opposite. 

"They  can't  make  me  b'lieve  that  all  their 
sightin'  an'  levelin'  is  necessary  in  that  flat 
piece  o'  land  b'fore  they  c'n  build  their  rail 
road,"  the  old  man  went  on.  "Why,  you  c'd 
lay  ties  on  a  level  like  that  by  rule  o'  thumb. 
They  're  jest  puttin'  on  airs  so  as  to  earn  their 
pay." 

"They  can't  fool  you,  can  they,  Mr.  Fin- 
lay?"  said  Josie,  laughing.  "Why  don't  you 

in 


112  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

go  over  and  tell  them  so?  You  ought  n't  to 
let  them  fool  father  and  the  rest,  either. ' ' 

' '  Well,  I  b  'lieve  I  will, ' '  returned  Zenas  un 
expectedly,  and  he  opened  the  gate. 

"Pa!  you  must  n't!"  exclaimed  his  pretty 
daughter,  horrified.  "What  would  they 
think?" 

But  the  farmer  was  crossing  the  road,  and 
gave  no  heed  to  Bessie's  remonstrance.  The 
two  girls  saw  him  lift  down  a  bar  in  the  low 
fence  opposite  and  make  his  way  toward  the 
group  in  the  field. 

"Oh,  dear,"  sighed  Bessie.  "He  is  such  a 
tease.  Ma  and  I  never  can  tell  what  he  's 
going  to  do  next.  Pa!  please  don't!"  she 
called. 

"I  ought  n't  to  have  told  him  to,"  said  Josie 
remorsefully,  yet  with  the  laugh  still  lingering 
in  her  bright  eyes.  "What  do  you  suppose 
he  '11  say  to  them?" 

Mr,.  Finlay  was  seen  in  apparently  serious 
conversation  with  the  surveyors,  and  presently 
the  one  who  seemed  to  be  in  charge  came  with 
him  toward  the  house. 

"Now  he  's  asking  one  of  them  here," 
groaned  Bessie,  dismayed.  "And  I  've  got 
this  old  blue  dress  on.  Oh,  dear !  Let  's  run. ' ' 

"You  shan't  do  it,  Bess,"  returned  Josie 


LINKS  AND  CHAINS  113 

valiantly.  ' '  That  's  one  of  the  most  becoming 
dresses  you  've  got.  We  can't  run  now,  right 
before  him  like  this.  I  think  it  's  fun,  any 
way."  Josie  was  always  adventurous. 

"I  told  this  young  feller  it  was  all  hocus 
pocus  an'  they  knew  it,"  observed  Zenas  geni 
ally,  as  the  two  men  came  across  the  road. 
"An'  he  says  he  doos  know  it,  an'  he  'd  like  a 
drink  of  water.  What  did  you  say  your  name 
was,  my  son?" 

"I  did  n't  say,"  responded  the  individual 
addressed,  a  young  man  with  a  frank,  attrac 
tive  face  and  a  pair  of  merry  blue  eyes.  "But 
it  is  Wether  ill,— Mun  Wetherill.  'Mun'  is 
short  for  Munson, "  he  added  explanatorily. 

"This  is  my  daughter,  Mr.  Wetherill,"  said 
the  farmer,  waving  his  hand  toward  Bessie; 
"an'  that  other  girl,  the  prettiest  one,  is  Josie 
Harney. ' ' 

This  unconventional  introduction  had  at 
least  the  effect  of  breaking  the  ice,  and  soon 
the  four  were  chatting  freely. 

"  Is  it  your  father  who  's  done  so  much  about 
building  this  branch?"  asked  Mun  Wetherill, 
regarding  Josie  with  interest. 

"Yes,  father  's  been  urging  it  for  years. 
When  do  you  think  it  will  be  started  ? ' ' 

"We   're  pushing  the  surveys  all  we  can. 


114  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

This  is  my  first  experience,"  he  added,  laugh 
ing. 

"Is  it  really?" 

' l  My  first  experience  in  actual  charge  of  real 
work.  I  only  finished  at  the  Boston  Teck  two 
years  ago.  The  firm  I  'm  with  have  n't  put 
me  on  field  work  till  now." 

"It  must  be  splendid!"  said  Josie  enthu 
siastically.  "I  'd  love  to  be  able  to  do  it." 

"I  'm  afeard  you  would  n't  git  the  rails 
straight,  Josie,"  commented  Mr.  Finlay. 
"You  're  a  leetle  too  slap-dash.  'Member  the 
times  you  've  spilled  Bess  out  cuttin'  corners, 
slidin'  down  hill!" 

"Well,  I  always  like  to  get  there  by  the 
shortest  way,"  admitted  the  young  girl,  smil 
ing  at  the  farmer.  "That  's  just  what  these 
rails  are  trying  to  do.  If  I  were  laying  them 
out,  I  'd  put  them  on  this  side  of  the  road,  right 
through  your  house,  Mr.  Finlay.  That  's 
shorter  than  over  there  by  the  fields." 

"Make  the  ol'  front  parlor  a  kind  o'  way 
station,  eh  I"  grinned  he.  "Ten  minutes  f'r 
refreshments  in  the  dining-room.  Cow 
catcher  stickin'  out  the  side  door,  while  the 
train  is  waitin'  inside.  Engineer  loadin'  the 
tender  fr'm  the  kitchen  coal-scuttle,  an'  fillin' 
the  b'iler  fr'm  the  pump  at  the  sink.  Conduc 
tor  punchin'  holes  out  o'  the  fam'ly  photo- 


LINKS  AND  CHAINS  115 

graphs  in  the  album.  How  w'd  your  ma  like 
all  that,  Bess!" 

They  laughed  at  this  unique  and  graphic 
wrord-picture. 

"The  shortest  way  is  n't  always  the  best 
way,  Miss  Harney, ' '  said  Mr.  Wetherill.  ' '  But 
I  'm  glad  to  know  that  there  's  a  pump  at  the 
kitchen  sink. ' ' 

"Gracious,  I  clean  forgot  that  this  young 
chap  said  he  was  thirsty!"  ejaculated  his  host 
apologetically.  "I  should  n't  wonder  ef  I  c'd 
skeer  up  somethin'  even  better  'n  water." 

He  disappeared  in  the  house,  and  presently 
came  out  with  a  generous  pitcher  of  new  cider 
and  some  tumblers. 

"Are  all  those  tripods  and  telescopes  and 
chains  and  things  make-believe,  Mr.  Wether 
ill?"  queried  Josie,  as  he  handed  her  a  glass 
which  Zenas  had  filled. 

"If  you  will  come  over  into  the  field  with 
me,  I  can  show  you, ' '  said  the  young  surveyor 
eagerly.  "I  think  you  would  find  it  inter 
esting.  ' ' 

"Oh,  so  I  should!  Come,  Bess,  let  's  go!" 
and  after  the  cider  was  finished,  the  girls 
tripped  off  with  their  companion  to  the  field. 
They  all  pressed  Zenas  to  come  too,  but  he  de 
clined. 

"  'T  ain't  my  field,  over  there,"  he  said 


116  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

dryly;  "an'  I  ain't  partic'larly  interested  in 
whether  the  railroad  goes  there  or  goes  some- 
wheres  else.  I  '11  leave  it  to  Mun  here,"  and 
he  blandly  watched  the  three  depart. 

The  explanations  occupied  a  long  time,  and 
Josie  went  home  full  of  interest,  and  with  an 
animated  description  to  give  to  her  father. 

"Let  's  go  over  together,  tomorrow,  father, 
and  watch  them  awhile,  do,"  she  begged. 
"Mr.  Wetherill  is  so  agreeable,  and  he  ex 
plains  everything." 

"Wetherill,  Wetherill,"  repeated  her  father 
thoughtfully.  "That  's  the  name  of  the  sur 
veyor  they  Ve  sent,  eh?  Do  you  suppose  that  's 
one  of  the  Wetherills  of  Worcester,  Ellen?" 

"It  's  possible,  Joel,"  said  his  wife. 

"He  said  he  'd  been  at  the  Boston  Teck," 
added  Josie. 

' '  They  're  a  fine  family  in  Worcester, ' '  Mr. 
Harney  remarked.  "I  know  something  of 
them.  I  '11  walk  over  there  with  you,  tomor 
row  afternoon,  Josie,  and  we'll  see  how  the 
work  is  doing." 

Mun  Wetherill  proved  to  be  one  of  the 
Worcester  family,  and  in  addition  Mr.  Harney 
found  him  decidedly  likable  on  his  own  ac 
count.  He  invited  him  to  the  house,  and  the 
young  man  was  not  long  in  finding  himself 
on  a  friendly  footing  with  them  all. 


LINKS  AND  CHAINS  117 

The  presence  of  the  surveyors  along  the  ex 
pected  route  of  the  railroad  gave  additional 
impetus  to  the  sales  of  tracts  of  land  border 
ing  the  route.  Zenas  Finlay  was  perhaps  the 
only  one  who  did  not  concern  himself  either 
with  selling  or  buying. 

"I  'm  satisfied,"  he  said  calmly.  "The 
road  won't  either  help  me  or  hurt  me.  Let 
well  enough  alone." 

Others  were  not  of  this  philosophical  mind, 
and  several  more  parcels  of  land  changed 
hands.  Meanwhile,  two  or  three  further  trans 
fers  of  property  a  mile  north,  along  the 
Haines'  Woods  road,  which  were  quietly  re 
corded  at  the  county  seat,  attracted  little 
attention. 

But  the  surveyors,  after  finishing  their  ex 
amination  of  the  expected  route  by  the  main 
highway,  were  seen  along  the  line  of  the  upper 
road.  The  fact  produced  immediate  excite 
ment  and  consternation  in  Prophet's  Landing 
and  Wollaston. 

"What  are  they  doing  up  that  way?"  every 
one  demanded,  much  mystified.  "They  can't 
be  meaning  to  run  the  line  along  there. ' ' 

"  'T  is  n't  much  if  anything  longer, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it,"  commented  an 
observer.  "The  main  station  's  at  the  north 
end  of  Wollaston,  and  it  's  about  as  near  to 


118  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

the  river  from  there  by  one  route  as  by  the 
other. ' ' 

Mun  Wetherill,  when  interrogated,  could 
throw  no  light  on  the  matter.  After  complet 
ing  the  first  survey,  he  had  received  instruc 
tions  to  make  this  second  one.  Mr.  Harney 
and  the  others  of  the  small  board  of  directors 
of  the  new  company  refused  to  make  any  state 
ment. 

"It  's  a  trick,  that  's  what  it  is, ' '  declared  a 
Wollaston  man  who  had  been  buying  heavily 
along  the  first  route.  l '  They  wanted  to  throw 
us  off  the  scent  till  they  could  buy  up  the  land 
along  Burnham's  farm  and  the  Haines  road. 
You  '11  find  the  best  of  it  has  been  all 
picked  up. ' ' 

This  in  fact  was  found  to  be  true.  And  fol 
lowing  on  the  heels  of  this  discovery  came  the 
official  announcement  that  the  railroad  would 
follow  the  northern  route  by  Haines '  Woods. 

There  was  vehement  indignation  among 
those  who  found  themselves  nipped  in  their 
speculative  purchases.  Several  of  them  faced 
considerable  losses,  for  they  had  paid  high 
prices  for  tracts  of  little  intrinsic  value  and 
now  found  themselves  unwilling  possessors. 
Mr.  Harney  and  his  associates  were  roundly 
scored. 


LINKS  AND  CHAINS  119 

"I  '11  bet  they  're  the  ones  that  bought  Burn- 
ham's  and  the  other  places  along  by  Haines' 
Woods,"  bitterly  asserted  the  Wollaston  man 
who  had  stigmatized  the  whole  transaction  as 
a  trick.  "Those  strangers  that  did  the  bar 
gaining  and  the  buying  and  recording  were 
just  dummies  acting  for  them." 

Joel  Harney  said  nothing,  but  he  did  not 
deny  that  he  was  the  real  owner  of  some  of 
the  land  that  had  been  unostentatiously  pur 
chased  along  the  new  route.  Another  owner, 
more  unexpected,  proved  to  be  Albert  Thorn 
ton. 

Olive  heard  of  the  latter  fact,  and  promptly 
confronted  Thornton  with  it  on  the  occasion 
of  his  next  call  at  the  house. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said,  with  a  satisfied  smile. 
"I  suppose  I  must  plead  guilty,  Miss  Olive." 

"But  I  asked  you,  that  day  of  our  drive, 
if  you  knew  who  were  buying  those  tracts, 
and  you  said  you  did  n't  know  anything  about 
it." 

"That  was  business  reticence,  you  see,"  he 
explained  lightly. 

The  girl  eloquently  looked  her  indignation. 

"Business  reticence  does  n't  require  a  man 
to  tell  a  falsehood,"  she  said  in  open  scorn. 

"Olive!     Why,  my  dear!"   exclaimed  her 


120  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

startled  mother,  who  was  in  the  room.  "You 
must  n't  speak  like  that." 

"Miss  Olive  is  n't  used  to  business,"  re 
marked  Thornton,  trying  to  smile,  though  his 
face  had  paled.  His  closely-set  eyes  avoided 
the  girl's  straight  gaze. 

The  word  seemed  to  arrest  her  attention. 

"Business,"  she  repeated,  as  if  it  suddenly 
brought  a  new  meaning  to  her.  "Business.  Is 
that  what  business  is,  Mr.  Thornton1?" 

"All  business  is  n't  the  same,"  he  replied 
warily.  "I  don't  know  what  you  're  re 
ferring  to. ' ' 

' '  Yes,  you  do, ' '  she  contradicted  bluntly  yet 
rather  absently.  She  seemed  to  be  looking  be 
yond  the  man  at  the  method.  "Is  that  what 
you  do  at  the  store  1 ' ' 

"Eeally,  Miss  Olive,"  began  Mr.  Harney's 
manager  rather  resentfully;  "I  don't  think 
you  quite— 

"Oh,  well,  never  mind,"  she  said,  interrupt 
ing  him.  ' '  You  Ve  given  me  several  things  to 
think  over,  somehow.  Let  's  talk  about  some 
thing  else.  Does  the  chestnut  mare  still  pull  ? ' ' 

He  winced  uncomfortably  at  this  allusion, 
and  the  talk  was  rather  forced  during  the  rest 
of  his  call. 

"Yes,  mamma,  I  know  I  was  rude,"  con- 


LINKS  AND  CHAINS  121 

fessed  Olive  penitently,  when  the  front  door 
had  closed  behind  him.  "After  all  your  years 
of  gentle  teaching,  too !  And  yet  I  don't  seem 
to  feel  a  bit  conscience-stricken.  Tell  me, 
mamma:  is  business  like  that,  as  he  said?" 

"He  said  all  business  is  n't  the  same,  dear," 
rejoined  the  elder  woman,  in  a  tone  that 
seemed  to  tremble  a  little. 

"Well,  most  business,  then.  Does  it  have 
to  be  tricky  and  tell  lies?  or  cruel  and  make 
people  lose  money?"  She  paused,  while  a 
nearer  and  more  terrible  question  forced  it 
self  to  her  lips.  "Does—  '  she  began,— "oh, 
mamma,  does  father's  busi— 

She  could  get  no  further,  and  sat  staring  at 
her  mother  with  wide  and  horror-stricken  eyes. 
And  then,  to  her  amazement,  Mrs.  Harney 
dropped  her  sewing,  pressed  her  hands  to  her 
face,  and  burst  into  uncontrollable  tears. 

"I  don't  know,  Olive!"  she  cried,  rocking 
miserably  back  and  forth.  "Oh, — I — don't— 
know!" 


X 


BY  THE   GEAY  RIVER 

GEORGE  BURROUGHS  was  visibly  fail 
ing  in  health.  He  appeared  years  older 
than  when  he  had  surrendered  his  little  shop 
and  had  taken  a  position  in  the  large  store. 
Day  by  day,  those  who  saw  him  go  by  from  his 
house  punctually  at  seven  in  the  morning,  and 
saw  him  returning  home  at  noon  or  again  at 
night,  noticed  that  his  step  was  heavier,  his 
thin  form  more  bent,  his  face  more  profoundly 
sad.  He  was  not  working  harder  than  he  had 
been  wont  to  do.  Indeed,  his  hours  were 
shorter  and  his  work  was  lighter  than  they  had 
ever  been.  Nor  was  he  earning  less,  but  rather 
more.  Mr.  Harney  always  made  it  a  point  to 
pay  adequate  wages,  and  not  to  overwork  his 
clerks.  It  was  sound  business  policy,  he  con 
tended.  Susan  Burroughs  and  Timmie  were 
not  looking  shabby,  any  more,  nor  was  George 
himself,  though  it  was  still  necessary  for  them 
to  live  closely  and  to  count  the  pennies  with 

122 


BY  THE  GRAY  RIVER  123 

care.  But  it  seemed  that  the  old  shoemaker's 
spirit  was  strangely  broken.  He  attended  to 
his  duties  faithfully,  waiting  on  customers  not 
only  in  his  own  department  but  elsewhere  in 
the  store,  when  needed,  with  the  same  gentle 
and  friendly  interest  that  he  had  always  shown. 
Yet  there  was  a  listlessness  about  it  all,  which 
he  could  not  conceal,  and  which  spoke  pathetic 
things  to  those  who  understood. 

His  wife  grew  more  and  more  worried  over 
his  condition.  She  knew  or  guessed  the  reason 
for  it  all,  and  her  heart  was  heavy  and  her 
spirit  sore.  She  no  longer  dropped  in  to  visit 
with  Ellen  Harney  in  the  old  familiar  way. 
Her  position  seemed  in  some  subtle  way  differ 
ent  now,  and  her  attitude  and  intercourse 
changed  accordingly.  The  change  was  shown 
even  as  regarded  her  neighbors,  who  found 
that  they  saw  much  less  of  her  than  formerly. 
On  her  husband  she  lavished  a  desperate  devo 
tion,  devising  tonics  and  strengthening  foods, 
reading  to  him  in  the  evenings  at  home,  watch 
ing  over  his  comfort  in  every  way  that  her 
anxious  solicitude  could  suggest.  Mr.  Bur 
roughs  appreciated  her  care,  and  was  grate 
ful  for  it. 

' '  I  don '  know  how  I  sh  'd  ever  git  along  with 
out  you,  Susan, ' '  he  would  say,  as  he  sank  into 


124  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

his  cushioned  armchair  at  the  close  of  the  day's 
work. 

"You  never  shall,  George,"  the  troubled 
woman  would  reply,  her  voice  brave  but  her 
eyes  often  very  moist. 

Sometimes,  when  Timmie  had  gone  to  bed, 
and  she  had  been  occupied  for  awhile  in  the 
kitchen,  she  would  come  back  and  find  him 
sitting  silently,  not  reading,  but  looking  dully 
at  the  wall  before  him.  At  her  entrance  he 
would  rouse  himself;  but  often  a  long,  uncon 
scious  sigh  would  tell  of  the  dispirited  thoughts 
within. 

At  about  the  time  when  the  announcement  of 
the  railroad  route  was  made,  Mr.  Burroughs 
fell  ill,  and  found  himself  unable  to  go  to  the 
store.  It  was  in  mid-autumn,  and  the 
weather  was  unseasonably  sharp.  Mrs.  Bur 
roughs  put  on  a  wrap,  and  hurried  over  to  the 
low  stone  house  at  the  Point. 

1 '  You  're  the  •  only  one  I  wanted  to  go  to, 
Mrs.  Potter,"  she  said,  as  that  motherly 
woman  made  her  come  in ;  and  she  told  of  her 
husband's  illness. 

"He  says  't  ain't  anythin'  much,  an'  he  's 
right,  as  fur  as  that  goes.  But  I  'd  almost 
ruther  it  was  somethin'  much,  than  to  have 
him  the  way  he  is. ' ' 


BY  THE  GRAY  RIVER  125 

"You  poor  Susan,"  said  the  elder  woman, 
with  a  note  of  pity  in  her  voice. 

Mrs.  Potter,  and  her  husband,  whom  many 
half  superstitiously  called  the  prophet,  went 
into  the  village  but  little.  Yet  the  couple 
never  kept  themselves  aloof  from  the  little 
community's  joys  and  troubles,  and  their  cheer 
or  their  consolation  had  given  peace  to  many. 
They  knew  well  the  story  of  George  Bur 
roughs,  and  they  had  of  late  sorrowed  much 
over  it. 

Mrs.  Potter  went  home  with  Mrs.  Burroughs 
and  made  a  long  morning's  visit.  Her  pres 
ence  brightened  the  aging  shoemaker  visibly. 
In  the  afternoon,  her  husband  himself  went  to 
the  house ;  and  rarely  a  day  passed  thereafter 
without  one  or  the  other  making  a  little  call 
of  comfort. 

The  venerable  potter  did  not  know  how 
nearly  trouble  of  another  sort  had  come  to 
affecting  his  own  home.  When  the  surveyors 
had  finished  their  examination  of  the  second 
route  for  the  railway,  their  report  recom 
mended  that  if  that  route  were  adopted,  the 
rails  should  be  carried  directly  out  to  the  Point 
itself,  reaching  the  river  there.  This  would 
involve  the  destruction  of  the  Potters'  house, 
which  lay  in  the  path.  There  were  certain 


126  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

engineering  advantages  in  touching  the  river 
at  this  place,  where  the  bank  was  high  and  firm, 
and  where  the  projecting  point  would  some 
what  protect  boats  from  the  pull  of  the  cur 
rent;  and  Wetherill  and  his  associates,  who 
had  of  course  no  special  interest  in  the  old 
couple  or  even  much  knowledge  of  them,  ad 
vised  this  plan.  The  Wollaston  men  among 
the  directors,  as  well  as  the  two  or  three  ad 
ditional  ones  from  outside,  had  no  objection  to 
the  proposal.  But  Joel  Harney  vetoed  it  per 
emptorily. 

"That  old  house  has  been  a  landmark  for 
two  hundred  years,"  he  said.  "The  village 
takes  its  name  from  the  landing  there  of  the 
man  who  built  it.  You  know  his  descendant 
lives  there  now.  I  should  n't  be  willing  to 
have  his  place  disturbed  under  any  circum 
stances." 

Mr.  Harney 's  voice  in  the  councils  of  the 
group  was  authoritative,  and  the  surveyors 
were  instructed  to  curve  the  line  toward  the 
southeast  before  reaching  the  Point,  so  as  to 
come  out  at  a  spot  on  the  bank  farther  down 
the  stream,— though  this  spot  was  still  fully  an 
eighth  of  a  mile  or  more  above  the  already 
existing  wharf. 

Meanwhile,  Stephen  Baird,  at  the  announce- 


BY  THE  GRAY  RIVER  127 

ment  that  the  line  was  to  follow  the  Haines' 
Woods  road,  had  experienced  a  stunned  dis 
may.  This  was  an  overwhelming  reverse  to 
his  warehouse  enterprise,— into  which  he  had 
put  so  many  hard  dollars  and  so  many  high 
hopes.  At  first  he  had  been  incredulous ;  but 
he  had  soon  found  that  the  news  was 
true.  It  meant  the  sudden  and  utter  loss 
of  all  he  owned,  for  the  structure  that  he  had 
built  was  of  no  value  for  any  other  purpose, 
and  he  was  personally  on  paper  for  payments 
still  due  upon  it.  It  was  a  staggering  blow. 

"What  's  at  the  bottom  of  this?"  thought 
Steve  hotly,  as  he  returned  from  an  agitated 
walk  to  the  new  spot  chosen  for  the  wharf. 
"It  's  more  than  an  engineering  idea;  there  's 
something  deeper  in  it. ' ' 

Then  a  quick  thought  came  into  his  mind, 
and  he  stopped  abruptly  in  his  walk,  while  his 
eyes  stared  out  at  the  river  and  his  teeth 
clenched  themselves  tightly.  "Thornton,  by 
George!"  he  said  to  himself. 

There  flashed  into  his  mind  many  things,— 
incidents,  half  forgotten  pictures,  allusions  lit 
tle  noticed  at  the  time,— which  now  coalesced 
into  an  unmistakable  conclusion.  He  recalled 
the  underlying  antagonism  which  had  always 
existed  between  himself  and  Thornton,  in- 


128  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

creased  tenfold  by  their  rivalry  in  regard  to 
Olive.  He  remembered  the  incident  at  the 
Thanksgiving  entertainment,  a  year  before, 
when  he  had  given  Olive  his  arm  to  conduct 
her  to  the  stage,  and  he  saw  again  Thornton 's 
look  of  black  hate  as  he  pushed  him  aside.  He 
recollected  the  more  recent  adventure  of  the 
runaway  mare;  and  the  scowl  with  which 
Thornton  had  greeted  his  pleasantry  on  that 
occasion  threw  a  new  light  on  the  man's  atti 
tude  toward  him.  He  reviewed  numerous 
other  incidents,  all  pointing  to  the  same  thing. 
Steve  disliked  Thornton  heartily,  but  he  had 
never  cherished  accumulating  and  evil  grudges 
of  this  sort.  With  him  an  unpleasant  incident 
was  forgotten  when  it  was  over.  His  dislike 
was  not  based  on  incidents,  and  had  not  thriven 
by  them.  But  Thornton's  was  a  different 
mind,  and  Steve  now  seemed  to  follow  his 
workings  with  startling  clearness. 

Then  came  another  and  more  dazing 
thought,— what  if  Mr.  Harney  himself  had  not 
been  unwilling  to  second  Thornton's  plan? 
Steve  knew  that  Olive 's  father  had  never  liked 
him;  and  while  the  young  man  was  sorry  for 
this  fact,  it  had  never  given  him  very  deep 
concern.  He  was  living  an  honorable,  hard 
working  and  ambitious  life;  his  mind  was 


BY  THE  GRAY  RIVER  129 

healthy  and  his  conscience  clear ;  and  the  hos 
tility  of  another  man,  based  as  he  knew  on 
hostility  to  his  father  before  him,  did  not 
greatly  distress  him.  So  far  as  Olive  was  con 
cerned,  he  did  not  feel  that  her  father's  hos 
tility  bore  upon  their  relations  at  all.  The 
centuries  were  past  when  fathers  shut  up  their 
daughters  in  guarded  towers  to  prevent  their 
marrying  the  men  of  their  choice;  and  Olive 
was  not  a  girl  to  stay  shut  up  in  a  tower,  even 
had  her  father  attempted  to  put  her  there.  As 
long  as  Steve  was  making  his  way,  fairly  and 
squarely,  in  the  world,  he  felt  cheerfully  inde 
pendent  of  hostility  and  of  opposing  parents. 

But  this— this  was  a  mode  of  attack  which 
utterly  bore  down  his  defenses.  To  make  him 
penniless  was  to  make  it  impossible  for  him 
to  ask  Olive  to  share  his  life,  and  her  father 
and  Thornton  knew  it. 

A  blow  from  behind!— and  no  way  to  return 
it  in  the  open.  The  man 's  teeth  clenched  them 
selves  again,  as  he  stood  there  alone,  still 
gazing  unseeingly  out  at  the  river,  gray  and 
sullen  under  a  clouded  sky.  The  world  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  turned  against  him.  The  de 
pression  which  he  had  fought  against  during 
the  past  summer,  when  strikes  and  high  prices 
had  threatened  his  enterprise  so  perilously, 


130  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

closed  down  upon  him  in  tenfold  heaviness. 
He  felt  beaten  now. 

Beaten!  Who  said  such  a  thing?  Steve's 
head  went  up,  and  resolve  came  into  his  face 
once  more.  Never!  It  only  meant  beginning 
anew,  that  was  all.  Where  and  how,  he  could 
not  say,  but  that  was  a  detail.  He  strode  on 
along  the  road. 

Then  came  a  surge  of  swift,  fierce  anger  at 
the  men  who  had  done  him  this  intentional 
wrong.  Chiefly  it  centered  on  Thornton,  whom 
he  guessed  to  have  been  the  real  instigator. 
And  yet,  how  prove  the  fact?  His  quiet,  fur 
tive  enemy  would  not  admit  it,  of  course.  Steve 
could  not  very  well  accuse  him  or  thrash  him 
on  general  principles.  Mr.  Harney  was  doubt 
less  perfectly  ready  to  assume  any  responsi 
bility  and  declare  the  project  of  the  new 
landing-place  to  have  been  his  own.  Perhaps, 
indeed,  it  was.  Perhaps  it  was,  after  all, 
purely  and  simply  a  business  proposition,. and 
had  nothing  to  do  in  intention  with  him  or  his 
warehouse  or  his  fortunes.  Perhaps  Thorn 
ton  had  never  thought  of  wishing  or  doing 
him  ill. 

But  instinctively  and  conclusively,  Steve 
knew  better.  He  seemed  to  see  in  a  clear  light. 
His  stride  slackened,  and  his  angry  expression 


BY  THE  GRAY  RIVER  131 

slowly  settled  into  one  of  deep  and  anxious 
deliberation  as  to  the  future. 

In  the  distance,  coming  toward  him  along  the 
river  road,  he  saw  a  tall,  white-bearded  man. 
It  was  Elder  Potter,  returning  from  an  after 
noon  visit  to  George  Burroughs.  Steve  was 
in  a  mood  when  he  needed  a  counselor  or  at 
least  a  listener.  The  kindly  face  of  the  patri 
arch,  as  he  had  stood  at  his  door  with  his  hand 
upon  his  wife's  shoulder,  and  had  looked  be 
nignly  upon  Steve  and  Olive,  that  June  day 
when  they  had  been  rowing,  came  vividly  to 
his  memory.  The  old  man  had  in  fact  always 
been  kind  to  him,  and  Steve  felt  that  he  was 
his  friend. 

Mr.  Potter  approached,  and  at  his  fatherly, 
half  inquiring  greeting,  Steve's  lingering  re 
serve  vanished,  and  he  spoke  out  all  his  trouble. 

They  stood  there  on  the  quiet  road,  while 
the  young  man  talked,  and  the  elder  one  heard 
him  more  comprehendingly  than  he  knew.  Mr, 
Potter,  whether  or  not  what  men  called  a 
prophet,  had  all  of  a  prophet's  stern  insight 
into  the  wrongs  and  sorrows  and  evil  tenden 
cies  around  him,  and  there  were  few  under 
currents  of  the  village  life  and  opinions  and 
happenings  which  he  did  not  know  or  seem 
to  divine. 


132  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

When  Steve  had  finished,  in  a  burst  of  vehe 
ment  anger  against  the  men  whom  he  believed 
to  have  wronged  him,  his  companion  stood 
gravely  silent  for  a  minute. 

"My  son,"  he  said  finally,  "when  you  sup 
posed  that  the  railroad  was  to  come  to  your 
warehouse,  did  you  think  it  planned  as  an  act 
cf  kindness  to  you!" 

"No,  sir,  of  course  not." 

' i  Then  why  think  the  other  route  planned  as 
an  act  of  enmity?" 

Steve  was  silent  for  an  instant. 

"It  's  different,  sir,"  he  said,  unconvinced. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  old  man,  smiling 
a  little.  "You  think  mine  no  argument.  Nor 
is  it.  Yet  this  much  it  may  suggest  to  you,— 
to  think  the  better  thing  till  you  are  sure  of 
the  worse. ' ' 

"The  whole  proceeding  looks  shady, 
though,"  argued  Baird.  "All  this  deceiving 
people  while  there  was  buying  and  selling  of 
land  going  on;  all  this  tr— " 

"The  times  are  out  of  joint,"  broke  in  his 
companion  with  a  sudden  earnestness.  "Do 
you  think  I  have  not  been  observing  things  as 
the  years  flow  over  my  head?  Nay,— I  tell 
you,  I  see  and  note  all;  more  than  you 
see  and  note,  my  son.  Tell  me:  those 


BY  THE  GRAY  RIVER  133 

who  sold  their  land  at  a  profit,  do  they  criti 
cise  the  change  of  line  1 ' ' 

< '  Why,  no,  no  one  that  I  Ve  heard, ' '  replied 
Baird,  with  an  involuntary  laugh.  "And  1 
Ve  talked  with  several  of  them.  They  think 
it  was  rather  a  smart  operation.  The  ones  that 
lost  are  the  ones  that  are  pitching  into  Mr. 
Harney  and  the  directors." 

'  *  I  know  it  well !  And  there  lies  the  danger, 
—danger  to  the  community,  to  us  all ;  not  in  the 
loss  or  gain  of  a  few  dollars.  To  condone  the 
wrong  when  it  profits,  and  to  condemn  it 
when  it  does  not,— is  that  the  sound  conscience, 
think  you?  Profit  is  a  dangerous  god  to  wor 
ship, — yet  he  dazzles  the  eye,  as  did  Aaron's 
golden  calf  or  the  gleaming  images  of  Baal 
and  Astarte.  One  man  among  us  is  setting 
that  god  high,  and  others  are  beginning  to 
worship  it." 

Steve  was  silent,  struck  with  surprise  at  this 
outburst.  He  had  never  heard  the  old  man 
talk  in  this  fiery  strain  before. 

"It  calls  for  sacrifices,— human  sacrifices," 
went  on  the  other;  "and  he  who  worships 
kills  and  offers!  He  destroys  before  it  the 
bodies  and  lives  of  others.  And  his  god  mocks 
him,  and  ends  by  destroying  the  worshiper's 
own  soul.  So  went  the  Israelites  ever  and 


134  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

anon  after  strange  deities,  and  there  arose 
prophets  to  warn  them.  There  will  yet  be 
need  here  of  a  prophet's  voice!" 

The  speaker  paused,  his  tones  solemn  as 
crgan-notes  and  rich  in  passionate  fervor.  At 
the  last,  he  seemed  to  be  speaking  rather  to 
himself  than  to  the  other. 

"I  have  come  from  a  house  where  one  of 
the  victims  sacrificed  to  this  man's  god  is  ly 
ing  in  sickness  and  sorrow,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment.  ' '  The  good  husband  and  father  there 
is  nearing  the  end  of  life;  you  are  at  its  be 
ginning.  Do  not  fear  that  you  will  be  another 
sacrifice;  you  are  young,  you  are  strong,  you 
can  escape  from  the  enemy's  hands.  Pray 
only  that  you  may  never  be  led  to  sacrifice 
others." 

He  ended,  and  stood  looking  at  Steve  with 
a  look  august  and  yet  benign.  The  young  man 
did  not  speak.  He  felt  strangely  moved  and 
thrilled.  The  old  man  put  his  hand  upon  the 
ether 's  shoulder  with  a  silent,  kindly  pressure, 
and  passed  on  his  way. 


XI 


MR.  and  Mrs.  Zenas  Finlay  and  Bessie 
were  giving  a  young  people's  Hallow 
e'en  party,  two  evenings  later,  and  Steve 
went  with  Olive.  On  the  way  to  the  house,  he 
said  nothing  to  her  of  what  was  on  his  mind. 
He  did  not  wish  to  mar  her  girlish  enjoyment 
of  the  evening,  and  so  reserved  what  he  had  to 
say  until  they  should  walk  home. 

"Glad  to  see  ye  both,"  said  Zenas  hos 
pitably,  at  the  door.  "I  was  jest  speckilatin' 
as  to  who  on  airth  Olive  w'd  come  with." 

' '  I  held  Steve  off  for  awhile,  hoping  that  you 
would  be  the  one  to  invite  me,  Mr.  Finlay," 
returned  the  girl  laughingly. 

"I  would  have,  only  my  wife  gits  so  blamed 
jealous.  B 'sides,  I  could  n't  leave  the  house, 
this  bein'  our  party,  ye  see." 

"We  're  on  time,  Mr.  Finlay,"  said  Steve; 
"I  hear  your  clock  striking  inside." 

135 


136  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"Yaas.  What  was  those  lines  you  sang 
once?— 

'  It  struck  twenty- four,  as  he  entered  at  the  door 
With  a  blooming  and  beautiful  bride.' 

There,  go  along  in,  both  o'  ye.  Seems  to 
me,  your  face  is  lookin'  kind  o'  pink,  Olive; 
Bess  '11  lend  ye  a  little  chalk  or  rice-powder 
or  whatever  she  uses." 

"Why,  Pa  Finlay,  I  never  use  a  thing!" 
indignantly  exclaimed  his  daughter,  who  had 
come  to  the  door  only  in  time  to  hear  this  last 
remark.  ' l  How  do  you  do,  Olive  ? — and  Steve  1 
Come  right  in. ' '  She  drew  them  inside.  ' '  Put 
your  things  on  the  hat-rack  or  anywhere. 
Where  's  Josie  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  she  's  on  the  way  with  Mr.  Wetherili," 
returned  Olive  with  a  smile,  as  Steve  helped 
her  take  off  her  things. 

"Oh,"  said  Bessie,  with  an  answering  smile 
of  comprehension.  "Dear  me,  how  we  're  all 
growing  up ! " 

She  led  them  into  the  square,  old-fashioned 
parlor,  where  her  mother  greeted  them,  and 
where  they  found  a  few  other  early  arrivals. 
Other  comers  soon  followed  them,  and  the 
room  was  gradually  filled  with  a  merry  group. 


HALLOWE'EN  137 

The  carpet  had  been  covered  with  an  old 
linen  drugget,  and  presently  Zenas  brought  in 
a  tub  of  water,  and  there  ensued  some  hila 
rious  " bobbing"  for  the  red  apples  floating 
within,— with  no  little  resultant  drenching  of 
the  hair  and  neckwear  of  the  young  men  par 
ticipating.  Stephen  Baird  in  particular  dis 
tinguished  himself  by  determinedly  pursuing 
one  of  two  very  large  and  agile  apples  which 
no  one  else  had  succeeded  in  bringing  out. 
Several  times  he  lifted  his  face,  dripping  and 
breathless,  without  the  coveted  fruit  in  his 
teeth;  but  only  to  plunge  after  it  anew.  Fi 
nally,  after  a  desperate  chase  into  an  angle  at 
the  very  bottom  of  the  tub,  he  brought  it  out 
triumphantly. 

"Good  for  you!"  cried  the  others,  clapping. 

"Why,  Steve,  you  're  just  soaked!"  ejacu 
lated  Bessie.  ' '  Here  's  a  dry  towel ;  and  pa  '11 
lend  you  another  collar  if  you  want  it." 

"It  's  the  dickey  I  keep  to  wear  Sundays," 
remarked  her  father;  "so  you  '11  have  to  be 
keerful  with  it,  or  I  won't  be  able  to  git  to 
meetin',  this  Sabbath." 

"You  did  that  well,  Baird,"  put  in  an  ad 
miring  voice,  that  of  the  young  surveyor,  Mun 
Wetherill,  who  had  of  late  come  to  feel  much 
at  home  among  the  young  people  in  the  com- 


138  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

munity,  and  who  seemed  to  like  everyone  as 
much  as  everyone  obviously  liked  him.  "You 
believe  in  never  giving  up,  I  see.  I  tried  for 
one  of  those  two  apples,  without  getting  it; 
but  I  'm  not  going  to  be  beaten  like  that !  So 
here  's  for  a  high  dive. ' ' 

He  plunged  his  head  deep  into  the  tub  of 
water,  chasing  the  remaining  apple.  His  face 
was  under  so  long  that  one  or  two  of  the  on 
lookers  began  to  be  alarmed,  not  feeling  sure 
whether  his  violent  bobbings  and  splashings 
were  in  quest  of  the  fruit  or  were  due  to  a 
struggle  for  breath.  But  finally  he  emerged 
triumphant,  like  Steve. 

"There,  I  feel  better!"  he  panted,  seizing 
the  towel  which  some  one  held  out,  and  pro 
ceeding  to  dry  his  head  and  face.  ' '  Miss  Josie, 
I  brought  that  up  for  you.  Hope  you  won't 
mind  the  marks  of  the  teeth." 

1  i  Oh,  I  '11  cut  a  long  peel,  and  see  what  ini 
tial  I  '11  throw,"  responded  the  young  girl, 
joyous  with  the  spirit  of  the  evening.  "Throw 
ing  peels  is  next,  is  n  't  it,  Bess  1 ' ' 

With  a  fruit-knife  she  made  a  long,  contin 
uous  spiral  of  the  apple-skin,  and  poising 
daintily  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  threw  it 
over  her  left  shoulder. 

"That  's  a  'Z,'  I  jedge,"  commented  Zenas 
Finlay,  looking  down  at  it  critically. 


HALLOWE'EN  139 

" Oh,  it  is  n't;  it  's  a  'W',"  asserted  Etta 
Betts. 

1  i  You  're  standing  on  the  wrong  side,  Etta ; 
it  's  an  'M'  from  over  here,"  contradicted 
another  of  the  girls,  Lena  Grimshaw. 

''Either  'M'  or  'W  is  first-rate,  Miss 
Josie,"  whispered  the  blue-eyed  surveyor  in 
high  satisfaction.  "I  'm  so  glad  I  bobbed  for 
that  apple." 

"You  try,  Bessie,"  said  Hollis  Heywood. 
"Please  throw  an  'H',"  he  pleadingly  added, 
sotto  voce.  But  Bessie's  apple-paring  could 
be  made  to  resemble  no  known  letter. 

"Never  mind,  Hollis,"  observed  Mr.  Finlay 
soothingly.  "Dreams  an'  apple-peels  some 
times  go  by  contraries.  Whose  turn  next?" 

The  fun  went  on,  with  mirror-gazing,  lead- 
melting,  uncovering  a  ring  in  a  mound  of  flour, 
and  various  other  hilarious  pastimes  esteemed 
at  Hallowe'en.  Then  some  one  struck  up  the 
Virginia  Reel  at  the  piano,  and  all  promptly 
formed  in  line,  Zenas  leading  the  dance  with 
his  reluctant  wife. 

"We  '11  never  be  as  young  ag'in,"  he  said, 
as  he  led  her  to  the  head  of  the  line. 

Thornton  had  not  taken  part  in  all  of  the 
games,  contenting  himself  often  with  looking 
cm.  His  nature  was  not  convivial,  and  he  often 
found  it  difficult  to  enjoy  what  others  were 


140  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

enjoying,  though  he  consistently  made  a 
pretense  of  doing  so.  He  met  Steve's  eyes 
fixed  fiercely  upon  him  several  times  in  the 
course  of  the  evening.  At  first  his  own  eyes 
fell,  but  later  he  returned  the  other's  gaze  de 
fiantly. 

Supper  came  now,  in  the  big  kitchen,  where 
the  fire  glowed  whole-heartedly  from  the  long 
range,— a  good,  appetizing  supper,  of  biscuits 
and  butter,  and  preserves,  and  hot  coffee,  and 
cookies  and  crullers,  and  gold  and  silver  cake, 
and  a  fresh  supply  of  apples,  and  some  of  Mr. 
Finlay's  famous  sweet  cider,  which  was  as  in 
nocent  as  water.  They  played  question  games, 
sitting  there  in  the  jolly  circle,  and  then 
trooped  back  to  the  parlor  for  a  final  dance, 
which  ended  in  a  boisterous  romp. 

'  *  Well,  J  Ve  been  to  lots  of  parties,  at  home 
and  around, ' '  commented  Mun  Wetherill,  as  he 
and  Josie  walked  briskly  homeward,  her  little 
gloved  hand  tucked  into  his  arm;  "but  this 
one  beats  them,  every  one.  What  fun  you  all 
have  here!" 

"Are  n't  you  glad  you  came  surveying  that 
railroad?"  queried  she  archly. 

f '  I  should  say  I  was !  I  wish  your  father  'd 
build  some  more.  Is  that  your  sister  and 
Baird,  'way  ahead  of  us  there  ? ' ' 


HALLOWE'EN  141 

It  was,  and  Steve  had  been  talking  to  Olive 
earnestly  and  rapidly. 

"And  so  I  'm  going  away,"  he  finished 
abruptly. 

"Steve!  You  're  not,  really!"  He  felt 
her  start,  and  then  move  closer  to  him,  clasping 
his  big  arm  as  if  to  hold  him  near  her. 

"What  else  is  there  to  do?  Nothing  here. 
I  'm  not  going  to  clerk  it  in  Prophet's  Land 
ing,— not  for  anyone,"  he  added  half  signifi 
cantly.  "I  don't  know  where  I  'm  going,  but 
I  Ve  got  an  uncle  in  Boston,  and  I  '11  have  a 
talk  with  him." 

"But  your  interests  here:  the  warehouse, — 
and  Captain  Prout,— and — and  your  friends," 
she  said  breathlessly.  "What  about  them 
all?" 

"I  'm  on  some  notes  for  further  payments 
on  the  warehouse, ' '  said  Steve  grimly.  '  *  I  got 
them  extended  for  three  years  yesterday ;  it  's 
a  Wollaston  man,  and  he  's  a  friend  of  mine, 
and  I  told  him  just  how  I  was  fixed.  He  was 
very  good  about  it;  though  after  all,  he  saw 
it  was  either  that  or  lose  'em  altogether.  And 
the  warehouse  can  stand  there;  it  won't 
move.  I  wish  it  would."  He  spoke  with  bit 
terness. 

"But,  Steve!"    The  girl  clung  to  him,  not 


142  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

seeking  to  disguise  her  distress.  Ahead  of 
them,  along  the  dark  road,  they  heard  the 
merry  voices  of  groups  of  the  returning  fun- 
makers,  laughing  and  calling  to  one  another. 
Mun  and  Josie,  behind  them,  had  slackened 
their  gait  and  had  now  dropped  out  of  sight. 

" Steve!  You  have  n't  told  me.  Do  you 
think  this  was— was— intended?" 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

' '  Intended  by  anyone  against  you. ' ' 

He  was  silent  a  moment. 

' '  I  have  n  't  said  so, ' '  he  evaded. 

"No,  but—  Her  eyes  opened  wide.  "Oh, 
Steve,  it  could  n't  be.  No  one  could  be  so- 
so-" 

"There,  Ollie, "  he  interrupted  soothingly. 
"Of  course  not.  It  's  just  an  unlucky  happen 
ing.  Why  should  anyone  trouble  to  bowl  me 
over  like  that?"  But  his  fist  closed  tightly  in 
the  dark,  as  if  answering  his  own  question. 

The  groups  ahead  scattered  down  the  vari 
ous  village  streets  with  loud  good-nights ;  and 
no  further  sounds  were  heard  as  the  two  came 
up  the  path  to  the  Harneys '  front  door.  Steve 
opened  it. 

"Good  night,  Ollie,"  said  the  young  fellow 
gently,  as  he  turned  to  go.  "We  '11  see  each 
other  before  I  leave,  of  course. ' ' 


HALLOWE'EN  143 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  the  girl.  * '  Steve, '  ' 
she  said. 

He  turned  instantly.    "Yes?" 

She  moved  near  him,  and  put  her  hand  on 
his  arm,  looking  up  at  him  with  her  truthful 
eyes. 

"I— I  '11  wait  for  you,  Ste\e, "  she  said. 
"That  is,  if  you— if  you  still—" 

He  caught  her  hand  and  pressed  it  fervently 
to  his  lips.  "Oh,  Ollie!"  he  breathed.  "As  if 
1  could  change !  But  it  's  different  now.  I 
must  n't  ask  anything." 

"You  need  n't,"  she  said,  with  a  little  joy 
ous  smile.  "  I  '11  understand  without  it.  Good 
night,  Steve,  dear. ' ' 

She  slipped  into  the  house,  the  door  closing 
softly  between  them,  and  he  was  in  darkness. 
He  stood  for  a  moment  where  she  had  left  him, 
aglow  with  a  rush  of  feeling.  As  he  went  down 
the  path  and  out  along  the  village  street,  his 
step  was  buoyant,  and  the  hopefulness  of  youth 
and  love  was  beating  in  his  breast. 

On  the  walk,  a  little  beyond  the  gate,  he  met 
Josie  Harney  and  Mun  Wetherill,  coming 
toward  the  house ;  but  his  greeting  was  preoc 
cupied,  and  in  fact  he  seemed  scarcely  to 
notice  them  as  he  hurried  on,  his  mind  in  a 
tumult. 


144  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

As  lie  turned  into  the  main  village  street, 
the  form  of  another  man  was  seen  moving  on, 
a  little  ahead  of  him.  It  was  Thornton,  who 
had  just  been  escorting  one  of  the  other  girls 
home,  and  was  returning  to  the  McNamaras', 
where  he  often  occupied  a  room  for  the  night 
when  it  was  too  late  to  drive  back  to  Wollaston. 
It  took  Steve,  deep  in  absorption,  a  minute  or 
more  to  realize  who  was  ahead  of  him  as  the 
two  moved  on  in  the  same  direction.  When  he 
did,  he  suddenly  quickened  his  pace. 

' l  Hold  up,  there,  Thornton, ' '  he  commanded 
abruptly.  "I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

The  other  turned  at  being  thus  addressed, 
and  his  mien  was  anything  but  friendly  as  the 
other  came  up  with  him. 

"Is  that  railroad  game  your  doing?"  de 
manded  Baird,  without  preface. 

Thornton  eyed  him.  The  deep-lying  but 
concealed  enmity  that  he  had  long  felt  for  the 
man  whom  Olive  manifestly  favored  sprang 
for  once  into  open  manifestation. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  he  retorted  vindictively.  "I 
hope  you  like  the  way  the  game  's  been 
played. ' ' 

The  physical  passions  of  each  were  surging 
violently  to  the  top.  Thornton  was  not  of  a 
belligerent  nature,  choosing  rather  to  work  by 


HALLOWE'EN  145 

more  devious  methods;  but  to-night  some  un 
controlled  impulse  made  him  throw  all  re 
straint  to  the  winds,  and  he  faced  Baird,  his 
chest  heaving. 

"It  's  the  game  of  a  cur  and  a  scoundrel," 
said  Steve  hotly,  beginning  to  throw  off  his 
coat.  "Where  did  you  learn  it?" 

"In  the  corner  saloon  they  say  your  father 
used  to  go  to." 

Baird  made  an  inarticulate  cry,  and  lit 
erally  leaped  at  his  adversary,  his  arms  still 
entangled  in  his  coat-sleeves.  Thornton  shot 
out  viciously  with  his  fist,  felling  the  other  to 
the  ground,  and  then,  mad  with  a  rush  of  rage, 
flung  himself  on  his  defenseless  antagonist  and 
hit  him,  once,  twice,  as  he  lay  there. 

Quick  steps  sounded  along  the  walk,  and 
Thornton  was  seized  by  the  collar  and  jerked 
violently  off  from  Steve,  who  was  still  strug 
gling  to  free  himself  from  his  coat. 

1 '  You  infernal  coward ! ' '  cried  Mun  Wether- 
ill  excitedly,  as  he  stood  panting  and  glaring 
at  Thornton.  "Is  that  your  idea  of  a  fair 
fight?  I  don't  know  what  you  fellows  are 
fighting  about,  but  by  Jove,  it  is  n't  going  to 
be  done  that  way." 

Baird  was  on  his  feet  now,  his  arms  freed  at 
last,  and  Thornton  stood  alert  at  the  same  in- 


146  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

stant.  Neither  took  the  slightest  further  no 
tice  of  Wetherill,  but  met  in  a  reckless  storm 
of  furious  blows.  Thornton,  ordinarily  a  quick 
and  wary  boxer,  threw  caution  to  the  winds, 
and  so  the  fight  was  suddenly  over,  for  he 
went  down  heavily  under  a  terrific  right 
hander  from  Baird. 

The  latter  stood  over  him,  breathing  sharp 
ly.  Steve 's  own  face  was  bleeding,  but  he  did 
not  know  it.  He  was  tingling  with  eagerness 
to  have  Thornton  rise  and  come  at  him  again, 
so  that  he  might  repeat  that  blow,— repeat  it 
again  and  again. 

The  other  slowly  rose,  but  he  made  no  effort 
to  attack  Steve  again. 

"Two  against  one,  eh!"  he  sneered,  getting 
out  his  handkerchief  and  wiping  his  bruised 
cheek.  "Is  that  your  idea  of  a  fair  fight?" 

"I  was  n't  in  it,  and  you  know  it!"  blazed 
Wetherill,  striding  up  to  him.  "And  you  can 
have  it  out  with  me  alone,  any  time  you  're 
ready. ' ' 

Thornton  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  picking  up 
his  hat,  brushed  past  the  two  without  further 
words  and  moved  on  down  the  street. 

' '  So  that  's  the  sort  he  is,  is  it  1 "  commented 
the  surveyor,  looking  savagely  after  the  re 
treating  figure.  ' '  Where  have  I  ever  seen  that 


HALLOWE'EN  147 

chap's  face?  I  'd  swear  I  Ve  met  him  before. 
Well,  you  punched  it  good  and  hard,  Baird. 
He  seems  to  have  jabbed  you  some,  too." 

''I  only  got  in  that  one  good  punch,"  said 
Steve  regretfully.  He  was  still  breathing 
quickly  from  the  excitement.  "Why  could  n't 
he  stand  up  some  more?  Did  you  hear  what 
he  said?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  need  to,"  returned  Mun 
with  a  laugh.  "It  's  your  quarrel,  not  mine. 
But  I  was  bound  it  should  be  fair  play." 

"Much  obliged,"  said  the  other  briefly, 
putting  on  his  coat.  "Going  my  way?  No? 
Well,  good-night,  Wetherill." 

The  two  shook  hands  and  parted. 


xn 

POISON"    IVY 

DIRECTLY  after  breakfast,  the  next 
morning,  Olive  sought  her  father  alone. 

"Steve  Baird  is  going  to  leave  town,"  she 
said. 

* '  Is  he  ? "  asked  Mr.  Harney  coolly. 

"Yes.  He  told  me  so  last  night.  Father, 
it  's  that  railroad.  It  will  ruin  his  warehouse 
business,  and  he  has  put  all  his  money  into 
that." 

"He  was  foolish  to  put  all  his  money  into 
such  an  enterprise." 

"Father,  did  you  know  this  was  going  to 
hurt  him?" 

The  clear,  direct  question  found  no  instant 
answer.  Mr.  Harney  was  rather  astonished  at 
his  daughter's  examining  him  in  this  straight 
forward  way.  He  was  not  only  astonished  but 
annoyed;  possibly  also  disconcerted. 


POISON  IVY  149 

"I  am  not  accustomed  to  having  you  speak 
to  me  in  that  way,  Olive,"  he  said  with  sharp 
ness. 

"I  want  to  know  about  it,  father,"  she  said 
imperatively.  Then  her  tone  changed.  "Oh, 
tell  me,  do,"  she  pleaded,  coming  to  his  side. 
"I  feel  sure  that  you  could  n't  have  known. 
I  want  always  to  love  and  admire  every 
thing  you  do,  and  I  just  have  to  hear  from 
your  own  lips  that  this  is  only  an  unlucky  hap 
pening,  and  that  you  can  maybe  change  it  even 
now. ' ' 

Usually  Mr.  Harney  was  quick  to  reach  out 
a  hand  and  draw  his  daughter  affectionately 
to  him  when  she  came  near  him;  but  this  time 
he  did  not. 

"Has  young  Baird  been  insinuating  things 
to  you!"  he  harshly  asked. 

Olive  stepped  back  and  drew  herself  up. 

"No,  he  has  not,"  she  said  with  emphasis. 
"Steve  Baird  is  not  the  man  to  insinuate 
things,  and  if  you  knew  him  better,  you  would 
know  that  he  is  n  't. " 

"I  know  him  well  enough,"  returned  Mr. 
Harney ;  ' '  and  if  you  care  for  my  view  of  the 
subject,  I  'm  perfectly  willing  that  he  should 
leave  town." 

The  girl  bit  her  lip. 


150  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"But,  father,  you  have  n't  answered  my 
question. ' ' 

"I  don't  intend  to  answer  your  question," 
said  he  tartly.  "I  don't  know  where  you  get 
authority  to  question  me  about  the  matter 
at  all." 

" Oh,— father!"  She  made  a  farther  step 
back,  as  if  avoiding  a  blow.  He  had  never 
spoken  to  her  in  that  tone  before. 

"Business  matters  are  my  affair,"  he  went 
on  with  peremptoriness.  "I  keep  you  and 
your  mother  and  sister  and  brother  in  clothes 
and  spending-money  and  a  good  deal  of  com 
fort.  I  want  you  all  to  stay  in  your  sphere, 
and  make  me  and  each  other  satisfied  in  re 
turn.  That  's  enough  for  you  to  do,  if  you  do 
it  well." 

"But,  father,"— the  girl's  face  tingled,  but 
she  spoke  with  proud  restraint,— "we  are  n't 
dolls;  mother  and  I  are  n't  pets  or  children. 
You  forget  that  I  'm  grown  up.  I  have  a 
right  to  talk  with  you  about  things." 

"You  have  no  right  at  all,"  he  said  angrily. 
"I  do  precisely  what  I  deem  best  in  life.  If 
my  doings  were  wrongful,  which  they  are  not, 
you  would  not  be  the  one  to  call  me  to  ac 
count.  ' ' 

One  would  have  said  that  there  was  a  note 


POISON  IVY  151 

of  disquietude,  of  self-exculpation,  under  the 
angry  tone,— a  note  strangely  at  variance  with 
the  gradual  stiffening  or  hardening  of  the 
man's  character  in  recent  years.  Was  it  that 
an  unrealized  conflict  was  going  on,— had  per 
haps  long  been  going  on,— within  him!  Were 
the  forces  of  Ormuzd  contending  with  those 
of  Ahriman  f 

But  Olive  did  not  hear  such  a  note.  She  was 
generally  sensitively  alive  to  elusive  impres 
sions,  but  now  she  was  too  much  engrossed 
with  the  outer  purport  of  the  conversation  to 
discern  any  counter  indications  below  the  sur 
face. 

She  stood  regarding  him  in  silence,  and 
there  came  into  the  girl's  face  a  look  of  with 
drawal,  a  stiffening  or  hardening,  which 
seemed  to  correspond  to  that  in  his.  Father 
and  daughter  had  never  before,  even  mo 
mently,  stood  thus  apart. 

"Whenever  Steve  Baird  is  in  a  position  to 
ask  me  to  marry  him, ' '  she  said,  in  clear,  quiet 
tones,  "I  think  he  will  do  so.  And  he  knows 
already  that  I  shall  tell  him  yes. ' ' 

She  turned  and  left  the  room. 

She  found  her  mother  in  the  dining-room, 
putting  into  a  small  basket  some  boned  chicken 
and  a  jar  of  jelly  to  take  over  to  the  Bur- 


152  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

roughs  house.  Mrs.  Harney  had  heard  of 
George's  illness,  a  few  days  before,  with  a 
quick  and  poignant  sympathy,  and  since  then 
she  had  made  daily  visits  to  the  house.  She 
had  a  feeling  of  deep  concern  for  this  illness 
of  his,— a  feeling  which  was  not  all  explained 
by  the  fact  that  George  was  an  old  and  once 
intimate  family  friend.  There  was  in  it  even 
a  vague  sense  of  responsibility.  That  Susan 
Burroughs  had  not  sought  to  see  much  of  her 
in  late  months  was  now  unnoticed  or  forgot 
ten,  and  Ellen  Harney  and  she  came  again 
into  close  and  sisterly  relations. 

"I  'd  like  to  walk  over  with  you,  mamma," 
said  Olive.  "I  want  to  tell  you  something 
about  Steve;  and  perhaps  I  can  see  Mr.  Bur 
roughs  too,  for  a  few  minutes. ' ' 

' '  He  is  quite  broken  down.  Poor  George ! ' ' 
said  her  mother.  "I  don't  know  when  I  've 
seen  anyone  change  as  much  as  he  has,  since— 
since  he— 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  her 
daughter  had  no  need  to  ask  what  she  was 
about  to  say.  Each  divined  what  was  in  the 
other's  mind,  though  they  forbore  to  formu 
late  it  in  words. 

There  had  of  late  been  a  change  in  Mrs. 
Harney 's  mental  attitude  toward  her  husband. 


POISON  IVY  153 

Questionings,  doubts,  accusations,  were  in  her 
mind,  where  before  had  been  implicit  confi 
dence  and  admiration.  Only  slightly,  almost 
imperceptibly,  had  these  feelings  betrayed 
themselves  even  to  her  own  thought,  and  she 
had  tried  to  put  them  resolutely  aside.  Her 
love  for  her  husband  was  an  unchangeable 
fact  in  her  life.  It  had  never  in  the  old  days 
been  complicated  by  any  feeling  of  criticism 
or  condemnation.  All  that  he  did  had  been 
right  in  her  eyes.  Their  family  life  had  been 
close  and  sweet.  But  of  late,  many  thoughts 
had  arisen  which  disturbed  her  strangely. 
Sometimes  in  talking  with  Joel,  she  would  try 
wistfully  to  lead  to  matters  lying  heavy  upon 
her  heart,  longing  for  the  simple  explanations 
which  she  hoped  could  be  given,  and  which 
might  clear  her  misgivings  away.  But  the 
things  of  which  she  wanted  to  talk  were  those 
of  which  he  would  not  speak.  Such  things 
were  business  matters,  he  would  say  de 
cisively,  and  they  were  not  in  her  province. 
He  became,  as  it  were,  stony  on  this  one  sub 
ject;  and  sometimes  his  wife  fancied  that  he 
was  trying  to  stifle  reflections  of  his  own  in 
stifling  discussion  with  her. 

Thus,  almost  unperceived,  certainly  unad 
mitted,  there  had  come  into  the  Harney  family 


154  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

a  breach,— a  lessening  of  the  full  and  joyous 
mutual  understanding  and  sympathy  which 
had  heretofore  existed.  The  breach  was 
slight,  very  slight;  and  Mr.  Harney  himself 
did  not  heed  it,  and  for  a  time  perhaps  scarcely 
saw  it.  But  none  the  less,  dividing  thoughts 
were  there. 

Mr.  Harney,  driving  over  to  the  Wollaston 
store  that  morning  behind  the  speedy  ponies, 
did  not  dwell  long  upon  the  talk  that  he  had 
just  had  with  Olive.  Too  many  other  things 
were  in  his  mind,  on  his  drives  to  Wollaston 
and  at  other  times  as  well,  to  leave  much  space 
for  these  matters  of  home  relations.  His  busi 
ness  interests  were  broadening  constantly.  He 
had  now  bought  the  store  building,  which  he 
had  previously  rented  with  an  option  of  pur 
chase;  and  already  he  had  found  it  necessary 
to  improve  and  enlarge  it.  The  store  was  al 
ways  thronged  with  customers.  On  dull  days, 
when  retail  trade  in  the  town  was  generally 
slack  and  the  other  stores  were  half  empty, 
Harney 's  was  as  busy  as  ever.  The  energies 
of  Thornton  and  himself  were  taxed  to  the  ut 
most.  New  clerks,  new  sub-managers,  were 
added;  and  constantly  and  progressively  the 
business  continued  to  respond  to  new  develop 
ments. 


POISON  IVY  155 

The  other  merchants  in  the  town  could  not 
understand  how  the  firm  of  J.  Harney  &  Son 
was  able  to  sell  goods  at  the  low  prices  it  ad 
vertised  and  still  make  money.  These  prices 
were  often  less  than  the  actual  cost  of  the 
goods  to  other  dealers;  and  this  held  true  on 
so  many  lines  of  late,  that  it  seemed  impos 
sible  to  explain  it  by  concluding  that  the 
profits  were  all  made  on  the  remaining  lines. 
Some  of  the  stores  in  Wollaston  were  finding 
themselves  half  empty  not  only  on  dull  days 
but  on  other  days  as  well,  and  already  two  or 
three  old-time  dealers  were  feeling  the  pinch 
of  strenuous  and  merciless  competition. 

None  knew  that  Joel  Harney 's  present  close 
relations  with  the  management  of  the  great 
railway  line  which  ran  through  Wollaston,  and 
which  had  other  great  lines  allied  with  it,  had 
opened  a  secret  door  to  advantages  which  they 
were  not  given.  Mr.  Harney  had  come  to  be  the 
heaviest  retailer  in  the  place;  his  monthly 
freight  payments  formed  an  important  item 
in  the  budget  of  the  road's  local  business,  and 
he  was  able  to  show  the  railroad  people  that  it 
might  be  largely  increased  if  favored  rates 
were  granted  him.  Moreover,  he  was  able  to 
use  as  a  club  an  argument  touching  the  haul 
by  wagon  from  the  landing  on  the  river.  This 


156  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

haul  he  had  been  able  to  make  less  costly  than 
that  by  rail,  and  he  had  plans  pending  for  an 
independent  boat  service  which  would  still  fur 
ther  lessen  it.  The  division  traffic  manager 
saw  the  point;  and  an  arrangement  was  at 
length  perfected  in  the  quiet  of  the  manager's 
private  office,  in  the  large  city  farther  up  the 
line,  whereby  Joel  Harney  came  into  a  posi 
tion  of  impregnable  and  destructive  mercan 
tile  advantage. 

A  new  commercial  pace  was  set  for  Wollas- 
ton.  Its  business  men  gradually  realized  that 
another  order  of  things  had  come.  The  old 
easy-going,  friendly  methods,  half  of  compe 
tition,  half  of  co-operation,  had  become  impos 
sible.  An  element  of  keenness,  relentlessness, 
warfare  to  the  knife,  had  been  injected.  Some 
of  the  stores  were  not  able  to  follow  the  pace. 
Their  owners  could  not  adapt  themselves  to 
ways  of  fierce  combat  at  their  time  of  life  and 
with  all  their  traditions  against  it.  They  could 
only  stand  by  and  look  hopelessly  on,  dimly 
perceiving  that  their  trade  existence  was 
doomed  to  slow  but  remorseless  extinction. 
Others,  however,  and  these  were  the  greater 
number,  were  not  of  the  nature  to  surrender 
their  position  without  a  struggle.  They  set 
themselves  to  follow  Joel  Harney 's  methods. 


POISON  IVY  157 

They  did  not  know  his  quiet,  strategic  com 
pacts  with  the  railroads  and  with  the  big 
jobbers  and  shippers,  and  in  so  far  as  these 
were  guessed  at  or  asserted,  they  were 
promptly  denied  by  the  interests  concerned. 
But  Mr.  Harney's  rivals  vigorously  pressed 
for  opportunities  to  gain  advantage  them 
selves.  They  suspected  unscrupulousness,  and 
were  not  unwilling  to  meet  it  with  the  same 
weapon. 

This  disposition  spread  rather  rapidly  to 
other  branches  of  trade  in  the  town.  The  stim 
ulation  was  felt  all  along  the  commercial  line, 
like  an  electric  shock.  But  the  stimulation  was 
not  simply  toward  more  enterprising  yet  still 
straightforward  methods;  it  was  toward  un 
sparing,  predatory  warfare,  the  silent  strug 
gle  in  the  dark,  the  deadly  knife-thrust  in  an 
other's  back. 

Even  the  little  village  business  centre  over 
in  Prophet's  Landing  was  showing  significant 
signs  of  the  same  change  of  standard.  Some 
people  criticised  Joel  Harney  and  his  methods ; 
not  a  few  suffered  because  of  them ;  but  many 
envied  him  at  heart,  admiring  his  extraor 
dinary  success,  and  these  stood  ready  to  emu 
late  it  if  possible  by  whatever  means. 

"There   's  p'ison  ivy  growin'  among  us," 


158  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

declared  Ezra  McNamara,  in  earnest  conver 
sation  with  his  pastor,  Mr.  WMtehouse. 

But  the  latter  was  an  inefficient  and  conven 
tional  man,  and  he  saw  nothing. 

"We  will  all  pray  that  it  be  rooied  out," 
he  said  piously. 


xin 

STKESS  AND  STORM 

IT  was  a  still  and  lowering  day  in  early 
December.  The  air  was  unseasonably, 
unnaturally  warm.  It  was  one  of  those  un 
usual  days  that  may  come  in  any  of  the  sea 
sons,  when  all  nature  seems  disturbed  and 
apprehensive,— when  something  vaguely  omi 
nous  seems  impending.  The  sky  was  yel 
low,  and  once  in  a  while  a  gust  of  restless 
wind  eddied  suddenly  down  from  the  bare 
tree-tops. 

Mr.  Harney  had  driven  home  for  dinner  as 
usual,  after  his  morning  in  Wollaston,  and 
soon  after  the  meal  his  wife  came  to  him  with 
a  written  message  in  her  hand. 

"Joel,"  she  said,  ''Susan  Burroughs  has 
just  sent  this.  George  is  dying." 

"Dying!"  he  said,  greatly  startled. 

"Yes.  I  am  going  over  right  away.  And, 
Joel,  I  want  you  to  come  too." 

159 


160  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

" Dying?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  I  did  n't 
know  he  was  as  sick  as  that. ' ' 

"I  Ve  felt  for  some  days  that  he  was  a  very 
sick  man,"  she  said  simply.  "You  remember 
I  Ve  said  so  two  or  three  times." 

"Yes,  but  I  did  n't  exactly  realize  it.  He 
did  n't  seem  to  have  any  specific  ailment,  and 
I  supposed— 

"Come,"  she  said  quietly.  "Let  us  go  over 
at  once. ' ' 

Mr.  Harney  half  mechanically  went  into  the 
hall  for  his  coat,  feeling  strangely  disturbed. 
When  his  old  friend  had  first  been  confined 
to  the  house,  he  had  gone  in  to  see  him  once 
or  twice  to  express  his  sympathy;  but  latterly 
he  had  left  the  calls  to  his  wife,  being  preoc 
cupied  with  many  other  matters.  Little  was 
now  said  as  the  two  walked  hurriedly  down 
the  village  street  to  the  Burroughs  home. 

"I  'm  glad  to  see  ye,  Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Bur 
roughs  in  low  but  agitated  tones,  meeting  them 
at  the  door.  "And  Mr.  Harney  too,"  she 
added  with  a  certain  effort. 

She  had  been  wont  in  other  days  to  call  him 
Joel.  He  noted  now,  with  a  sudden  odd,  ob 
scure  pang,  the  change  in  the  name. 

' '  How  is  he  1 "  questioned  Mrs.  Harney  anx 
iously. 

"He  's  very  low.     The  doctor  's  just  been 


STRESS  AND  STORM  161 

in,  an'  is  comin'  again  in  an  hour.  Mrs.  Pot 
ter  is  here,— been  here  since  morninV 

The  visitors  followed  Mrs.  Burroughs  into 
the  little  sitting-room.  She  looked  worn  and 
exhausted.  Mrs.  Harney  put  a  loving,  sup 
porting  arm  around  her. 

"Oh,  I  can't  believe  it,  Ellen,"  the  shoe 
maker's  wife  sobbed.  "I  can't  believe  he  's 
going.  How  can  I  ever  do  without  him  1 ' ' 

"Don't,  Susan,  dear,"  grieved  the  other 
woman  softly,  her  own  voice  a  little  broken. 
"Perhaps  he  will  be  spared  to  you  yet." 

"His  time  is  n't  come,  Ellen;  it  is  n't  right 
ly  come, ' '  uttered  Mrs.  Burroughs,  clinging  to 
her  and  crying  unrestrainedly.  "George  is 
only  a  little  older  'n  Joel.  Why  should  the 
good  Lord  take  him  from  us  now?" 

Swift  and  strong  emotions  were  beating  in 
Joel  Harney 's  breast,  as  he  stood  there  by  the 
two  in  silence,  in  sympathy,  in  real  sorrow. 
Few  men  could  be  unmoved  in  such  a  scene, 
and  this  man  had  much  in  him  that  was  warm 
and  human. 

The  door  of  the  bedroom  adjoining  was 
quietly  opened,  and  Mrs.  Potter  came  out. 
She  greeted  the  three  with  a  smile  of  motherly 
peace  and  sympathy  as  she  went  on  into  the 
kitchen. 

' '  May  I  go  in  f "  whispered  Ellen  Harney. 


162  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

Susan  nodded,  and  the  other  went  into  the 
bedroom.  Mrs.  Burroughs  sought  a  chair  and 
strove  to  compose  herself.  Little  by  little  her 
noiseless  weeping  ceased.  Mr.  Harney  re 
mained  standing.  Neither  spoke.  It  seemed  a 
long  quarter-hour  before  Mrs.  Harney  again 
appeared  in  the  doorway. 

''He  wants  to  see  you,  Joel,"  she  said,  as 
she  came  up  to  her  husband. 

He  bent  his  head  in  silent  assent,  and  passed 
into  the  inner  room. 

George  Burroughs,  lying  in  the  bed,  made 
a  feeble  movement  to  turn  his  head  in  welcome. 
His  thin  hands  were  outspread  on  the  counter 
pane.  His  face  was  pale  with  the  pallor  of 
death,  and  his  breath  came  quickly,  in  short, 
strained  gasps.  The  outline  of  his  form  under 
the  bedclothes  showed  that  it  was  shrunken  to 
emaciation.  He  seemed  to  be  literally  wast 
ing  away. 

"I  'm  glad  to  see  ye,  Joel,"  he  whispered, 
speaking  slowly  and  with  effort.  ''I  knew 
ye  'd  come  in  ag'in  b'fore  I— b 'fore  I  went." 

Mr.  Harney  could  not  tell  him  that  he  was 
there  only  at  his  wife's  reminder.  He  was 
greatly  moved.  He  came  to  the  bedside,  and 
took  one  of  the  thin  hands  in  his. 

"Don't  talk  about  'going,'  George,"  he  said, 


STRESS  AND  STORM  163 

with  an  attempt  at  outward  cheerfulness. 
"We  '11  have  you  out  of  this  yet." 

The  other  shook  his  head  faintly.  "I  'm 
afeard  not,"  he  answered.  "Or  no,"  he  went 
on,— "not  afeard,  exac'ly.  I  'm  ready  to  go, 
I  guess." 

t  i  There  's  a  very  fine  doctor  I  know,  over  in 
Wollaston, "  said  Mr.  Harney,  as  he  sat  down 
in  the  little  cane  chair  at  the  side  of  the  bed. 
"I  '11  have  him  in  consultation  with  the  doctor 
here.  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  it  sooner." 

11 1  'm  ready  to  go, ' '  repeated  the  other  list 
lessly.  "I  'm  done.  Juice  is  all  dried  up. 
It  's  nobody's  fault  but  mine,  I  s'pose." 

Mr.  Harney 's  keen,  firm  features  and  his 
vigorous  bodily  health  made  a  striking  con 
trast  to  the  appearance  of  the  man  before  him. 
Mr.  Burroughs  noted  it  instinctively. 

"Your  springs  've  got  temper  in  'em  still," 
he  observed.  ' '  You  've  got  things  ahead  of  ye 
to  do,— things  to  plan,  things  to  accomplish. 
That  's  what  keeps  the  temper  in  a  man's 
springs.  I  'm  glad  fur  ye,  Joel." 

It  was  a  moment  before  Mr.  Harney  spoke. 

"George,"  he  said,  "I  can't  tell  you  how 
sorry  I  am  to  see  you  so  sick.  I  asked  the  doc 
tor,  only  the  other  day,  and  he  said  there  was 
no  organic  trouble. ' ' 


164  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"No,  I  don'  know  as  there  is,"  assented  the 
other. 

"What  is  it,  then!" 

"Nothin'  that  c'n  be  helped,  I  guess." 

Mr.  Harney's  memories  went  back  to  other 
years,  when  George  Burroughs,  slight  in  form 
always,  but  with  a  certain  cheerful  springi 
ness  of  step,  used  to  pass  along  the  village 
street  to  and  from  his  shop.  There  was  a 
kindly  sprightliness  about  him  which  was  very 
winning.  His  gentle  pleasantries  fell  here  and 
there  among  his  friends,  and  even  as  he 
worked  at  his  bench,  a  customer  coming  in 
would  often  find  him  whistling  to  himself  and 
enjoying  it. 

Then  Mr.  Harney's  thoughts  ran  on  to  the 
day  when  the  shoemaker  came  to  his  store  to 
ask  if  it  were  really  true  that  he  was  to  open 
a  rival  department.  He  remembered  clearly 
the  droop  in  the  older  man's  shoulders,  as 
George  went  out  of  the  store  with  a  brave 
effort  at  an  unconcerned  parting  remark.  He 
had  often  remembered  it  uncomfortably  in  the 
interval,  but  had  always  put  the  thought  away. 
And  then,  the  time  in  the  spring  following, 
when  George  had  come  to  accept  his  offer  of  a 
position.  He  had  not  noticed  the  droop  so 
much  then,  perhaps  because  he  would  not  no- 


STRESS  AND  STORM  165 

tice  it.  And  since  that  time,  his  intercourse 
with  his  old  friend  had  been  formal,  commer 
cial,  defensively  impersonal. 

He  felt  a  sense  of  impatience  as  these  thoughts 
came  into  his  mind,  seeming  to  accuse  and  sting 
him  while  he  sat  looking  at  the  prostrate  figure 
before  him.  Why  should  the  matter  come  back 
upon  him,  Joel  Harney,  in  any  way?  What 
had  he  done,  other  than  a  strictly  legitimate 
act,  and  afterward  even  a  friendly  one  ?  What 
blame  was  there  in  that?  Why  should  anyone 
blame  him!  Why  should  he  blame  himself? 
And  then,  curiously  underneath,  there  ran  that 
strange  current  of  hostility  always  felt  by  the 
wronger  toward  the  wronged,  which  both  gain 
said  and  fortified  his  stiffening  mental  atti 
tude. 

George  Burroughs  saw  naught  of  all  this,  as 
he  lay  there  in  his  weakness.  His  heart  was 
not  cherishing  anger  or  bitterness,  only  sor 
row,— though  it  was  sorrow  for  himself,  and 
sorrow  for  one's  self  is  often  the  most  grievous 
of  all.  He  was  glad  that  his  friend  and  neigh 
bor  had  come  in  to  see  him  for  a  last  word, 
and  he  was  willing  to  go  back  to  the  equal 
status  of  years  ago. 

"No,  there  's  nothing  the  matter  with  me 
that  c'n  be  helped,"  he  repeated,  rather  ab- 


166  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

sently.  "But  I  'm  sorry  f'r  Susan  an'  little 
Timmie.  I  have  n't  done  anythin'  much  in 
life,  but  they  don't  mind  that,  an'  they  '11 
miss  me. ' ' 

"Don't  trouble  about  their  being  taken  care 
of,  George,"  said  Mr.  Harney. 

A  flash  of  remonstrant  protest,  such  as  had 
flamed  in  Mr.  Burroughs 's  eyes  on  the  after 
noon  when  Joel  had  first  proposed  the  change 
of  position,  came  into  them  now  for  a  moment. 

' '  I  did  n  't  mean  it  that  way, ' '  he  said  sharply. 
"I  never  asked  charity,  an'  they  won't. 
Susan  's  got  the  house,  an'  a  little  money  that 's 
her  own;  an'  she  's  got  her  folks  to  go  to, 
over  in  Easthaven,  ef  she  needs  to.  I  only 
meant  that  they  '11  miss  me,— jest  f'r  myself, 
not  the  wages  I  make. ' ' 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  George,"  said  the 
other,  almost  humbly.  ' '  I  did  n 't  mean  to  hurt 
you."  His  heart  seemed  to  have  suddenly 
softened,  despite  himself.  He  leaned  forward, 
nearer  the  figure  on  the  bed.  He  was  experi 
encing  unaccountable  variations  of  feeling, 
alternating  rapidly  between  melting  and  freez 
ing.  Violent  and  contrary  emotions  of  which 
he  had  hitherto  had  little  conception  seemed 
at  war  within  him. 

"Joel,"  said  the  dying  man,  speaking  with 


STRESS  AND  STORM  167 

increasing  effort,  yet  eagerly,  "there  's  some- 
thin'  I  want  to  say  to  ye,  an'  it  ain't  about  my 
self  or  the  others,  but  it  's  about  you.  It  's  to 
tell  ye  to  be  careful  where  ye  're  goin'." 

Mr.  Harney  sat  erect  again. 

"I  'm  sayin'  it  because  I  care  f'r  ye,  an' 
allers  have.  An'  this  is  a  time  when  one  man 
c'n  say  things  to  another.  Oh,  Joel,  be  careful 
where  ye  're  goin'!  I  'm  afeard  f'r  ye,  I  'm 
afeard  f'r  ye,  an'  I  Ve  got  to  speak  it  out." 

There  was  no  response;  the  sick  man's 
words  seemed  as  arrows  against  armor. 

"I  remember  your  sayin'  once  that  nobody 
c'n  stay  still  in  life;  they  Ve  either  got  to 
move  forward  or  backward,"  lio  pursued,  with 
earnestness,  even  solemnity,  "But  I  don' 
know  but  what  a  person  c'n  go  forward  an' 
yit  backward  too. ' ' 

His  own  forgotten  words  came  back 
startlingly  to  Mr.  Harney.  They  came  as  a 
message  from  the  dying,  with  a  new  and  warn 
ing  interpretation.  Involuntarily  he  pushed 
back  his  chair  a  little.  If  deep  feelings  were 
stirring  within  him,  his  face  and  voice  gave  no 
sign  as  he  answered: 

"We  must  n't  talk  about  these  matters  now, 
George.  Wait  till  you  get  better  and 
stronger. ' ' 


168  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

He  reached  out  and  soothingly  took  the 
other's  thin  hand  once  more  in  his  own. 

;  '  There  's  been  no  going  backward  with  you, 
old  friend,"  he  was  impelled  to  add. 

The  shoemaker  closed  his  eyes  and  was 
silent.  The  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Burroughs 
came  noiselessly  into  the  room. 

"George,"  she  said,  coming  to  the  bed;  but 
he  did  not  answer.  His  breath-gasps  had  be 
come  fainter. 

"George!"  she  said  again,  in  alarm,  stoop 
ing  over  him;  and  slowly,  with  infinite  effort, 
he  raised  his  arm  and  put  it  around  her  neck, 
as  he  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled,  and  spoke 
to  her.  Mr.  Harney  had  risen,  and  now  he 
moved  out  of  the  room  with  hushed  footsteps, 
leaving  them  together,  husband  and  wife. 


hour  later,  Susan  Burroughs,  dry-eyed 
and  as  yet  unrealizing,  was  sitting  in  her 
rocker  in  the  sitting-room.  Mrs.  Potter  was 
bringing  her  a  cup  of  tea.  Joel  and  Ellen 
Harney  were  still  there.  The  thoughts  of  them 
all  were  in  the  darkened  bedroom  and  on  the 
still  form  there  that  would  never  stir  again. 

"Thank  ye,  Ellen,"  Mrs.  Burroughs  was 
saying  dully,  "but  I  don'  know  as  there  's 
anythin'  more  to  be  seen  to,  right  now.  Tim- 


STRESS  AND  STORM  169 

mie  '11  be  back  with  the  undertaker  in  a  few 
minutes."  She  mechanically  drank  the  cup  of 
tea  which  Mrs.  Potter  placed  in  her  hand. 

"How  about  your  folks  in  Easthaven?" 
asked  Mrs.  Harney. 

"I  wish  they  c'd  know  this  afternoon,  of 
course.  But  they  '11  git  word  early  in  the 
morning." 

"Mr.  Harney  and  I  will  go  over  and  tell 
them,  this  afternoon,"  Ellen  said. 

"Yes,  yes,  certainly,"  added  her  husband, 
glad  to  feel  that  he  could  be  of  service,  and 
perhaps  glad  too  of  an  opportunity  to  have 
something  active  to  do,  to  still  his  restless 
thoughts. 

* '  Oh,  you  must  n  't, "  protested  Susan.  "  I  c  'n 
send  word. ' ' 

"Of  course  we  '11  go,  Susan.  We  '11  stop 
at  the  house  and  have  Olive  come  over  to  stay 
while  I  'm  gone." 

Joel  and  his  wife  said  little  as  they  walked 
down  to  the  river  wharf.  He  had  rather 
dreaded  their  walk  together,  fearing  lest  his 
wife  might  speak  of  George  and  of  his  rela 
tions  with  him.  It  was  the  topic  uppermost  in 
her  mind,  as  he  well  knew.  But  Mrs.  Harney 
was  gifted  with  a  rare  sagacity,  and  she  felt 
instinctively  that  this  was  not  a  time  to  speak. 


170  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

Whatever  had  been  said  between  the  two  men 
in  that  solemn  hour  of  death,  she  could  not 
add  to  it,  but  might  possibly  take  away. 

They  crossed  the  river  in  the  small  wherry 
which,  belonging  to  Captain  Prout,  plied 
hourly  between  Prophet's  Landing  and  East- 
haven  opposite.  The  gray  of  the  water  and 
the  murky,  yellow  sky  made  up  a  gloomy 
picture.  Once  there  was  a  sudden  menacing 
illumination  in  a  distant  cloud-bank  in  the 
west  behind  them,  followed  by  a  low,  sullen 
rumble. 

"What  do  you  make  of  this  weather,  Dave?" 
asked  Mr.  Harney  of  one  of  the  two  boatmen. 
"It  looks  to  me  as  if  something  was  brewing." 

"Brewing  fast,  sir,"  said  Dave,  steadily 
putting  his  strength  into  his  long  sweep.  "If 
I  can  tell  the  signs,  we  're  going  to  have  a 
tornado  or  something  before  dark." 

"Before  dark?"  asked  Mrs.  Harney  appre 
hensively. 

"Yes,  'm.  Have  you  noticed  how  warm  and 
close  it  's  been  today?  And  did  you  hear  that 
thunder  just  now,  over  to  the  west'ard?" 

"We  don't  often  get  a  thunderstorm  at  this 
season  of  the  year,"  commented  Mr.  Harney 
thoughtfully.  "I  don't  remember  more  than 
one  or  two  since  I  was  a  boy." 


STRESS  AND  STORM  171 

"Nor  I,"  said  Dave,  who  was  a  man  of 
nearly  the  other's  age.  "They  were  fearful 
ones,  though." 

Mr.  Harney  glanced  at  his  wife,  not  wishing 
to  have  her  alarmed,  and  said  in  an  indifferent 
tone: 

"Oh,  well,  this  may  switch  off  to  the  north- 
'ard.  Here  we  are,  Ellen."  The  wherry 
touched  the  Easthaven  landing-place.  '  *  We  '11 
be  here  at  five,  Dave,  to  go  back. ' ' 

They  delivered  their  message  in  Easthaven, 
and  later  made  their  way  again  toward  the 
pier.  Mrs.  Burroughs 's  relatives  were  to  come 
over  on  the  next  trip.  It  had  grown  rapidly 
darker,  and  a  few  large  drops  of  rain  splashed 
down.  The  bank  of  clouds  in  the  west  had 
rolled  higher  and  had  grown  blacker,  and  now 
and  again  lurid  flashes  shot  from  it. 

"Perhaps  we  'd  better  not  cross  back  yet, 
Ellen,"  Mr.  Harney  said.  "The  storm  may 
break,  any  minute.  We  can  get  supper  at  the 
hotel  here." 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said;  "I  'd  rather  go  home. 
I  don't  mind  a  wetting;  I  brought  this  water 
proof  cape,  and  you  Ve  got  your  umbrella." 

"It  looks  like  more  than  just  a  wetting," 
commented  Mr.  Harney  dubiously,  as  they 
found  their  way  in  the  darkness  to  the  landing, 


172  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

where  the  wherry's  lantern  was  burning. 
"How  is  it,  Dave?" 

"That  you,  Mr.  Harney?"  The  man  helped 
them  in,  and  they  took  their  seats  in  the  stern. 
"Dick  and  I  were  just  saying  that  something 
big  's  going  to  happen." 

' '  Sure  you  want  to  go,  Ellen  1 ' '  her  husband 
asked. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said  a  little  impatiently, 
and  the  men  pushed  off.  The  wind  was  coming 
down  in  sudden,  vicious  sweeps,  and  the  river, 
already  beginning  to  rise  in  commotion,  seized 
upon  the  craft  instantly  with  a  warning  vehe 
mence. 

The  two  passengers  became  aware  of  a 
third,— a  man  sitting  at  the  other  end  of  the 
boat.  He  was  looking  intently  ahead,  absorbed 
in  the  scene's  wild  grandeur  and  gloom,  and 
had  not  spoken.  A  flash  of  lightning  revealed 
his  identity. 

"It  's  the  prophet!"  whispered  Mrs.  Har- 
ney,  who,  like  all  the  villagers,  had  throughout 
her  life  thought  of  him  by  that  august  name. 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Joel.  "He  often  comes 
over  to  ship  some  of  his  wares  from  here. 
Whew,  how  it  blows ! ' ' 

The  boatmen  were  laboring  hard,  but  were 
finding  it  almost  impossible  to  keep  their 


STRESS  AND  STORM  173 

course.  There  was  not  much  rain,  but  the  wind 
drove  down  fiercely  from  north  and  west,  and 
they  had  to  fight  well  upstream  to  resist  it. 
Mrs.  Harney  had  folded  her  great  army  cape 
about  Joel  as  well  as  herself,  for  an  umbrella 
was  of  no  use  in  the  savage  gale. 

*  *  Look  out ! ' '  yelled  Dave  suddenly.  ' '  Hold 
hard,  everybody!" 

The  storm  that  had  already  been  raging  had 
been  but  a  forerunner.  Like  a  cannon-shot 
the  tornado  now  burst  upon  them.  The  wind 
roared  like  a  demon  of  destruction,  and  a 
broadside  caught  the  wherry  and  careened  it 
violently.  Two  or  three  express  packages  on 
a  seat  were  seized  by  the  blast  and  sent  fly 
ing  as  if  they  were  card-board.  The  river 
boiled  up  around  the  boat  as  if  by  some  vol 
canic  eruption.  Overhead,  Heaven's  artillery 
opened  fire,  and  flash  and  crash  were  incessant. 
The  fury  of  the  outburst  was  tropical  in  its 
mad  attack. 

Mrs.  Harney  clung  tightly  to  her  husband, 
alarmed  though  without  panic.  She  was  glad 
to  have  his  strong,  rigid  figure  to  cling  to.  The 
boatmen  had  been  forced  to  stop  rowing  for 
the  moment,  and  the  boat  was  driven  help 
lessly  backward  by  the  sweep  of  the  gale.  In 
front  the  lightning  revealed  the  white-bearded 


174  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

figure  of  the  old  potter,  sitting  motionless,  and 
gazing  straight  ahead,  intent  and  unafraid,  at 
the  tumult  of  wind  and  wave. 

"Keep  her  head  up,  Dave!"  shouted  Dick, 
the  other  boatman,  desperately  struggling  to 
get  a  hold  on  the  leaping  water  with  his  long 
oar.  With  tense  exertion  the  men  succeeded 
in  getting  the  wherry  under  some  steering 
way,  but  they  could  make  little  progress  for 
ward. 

"Oh,  Joel,  what  a  terrific  flash!"  cried  Mrs. 
Harney,  and  she  was  answered  on  the  instant 
by  the  boom  of  a  deafening  peal  of  thunder, 
which  was  echoed  and  re-echoed  ere  it  went 
rolling  away,  drowned  out  by  the  shrieking 
wind. 

"That  struck  somewhere  near!"  shouted 
Mr.  Harney,  holding  firmly  to  the  boat's  side 
with  one  hand,  while  his  other  arm  clasped  his 
wife. 

And  in  confirmation,  a  dull  red  glare  showed 
itself  on  the  western  side  of  the  river  ahead  of 
them,  where  the  houses  of  Prophet's  Landing 
stood,  seeming  to  huddle  together  as  if  crouch 
ing  for  shelter. 

"Where  is  it!  Can  you  see  what  house  it 
is?"  cried  Mrs.  Harney  in  swift  anxiety.  They 
peered  fearfully  through  the  gloom,  lit  up  by 


STRESS  AND  STORM  175 

frequent  sheets  of  light,  but  for  awhile  could 
not  distinguish  the  spot  that  was  struck. 

The  prophet  had  risen,  regardless  of  the  im 
minent  danger  of  being  blown  overboard,  and 
now  stood  motionless,  still  gazing  forward,  and 
seeming  to  the  strained  imagination  of  the 
others  to  be  discerning  all  things  in  the  vista 
ahead.  He  even  appeared,  as  Mr.  Harney 
strangely  fancied,  to  be  commanding  the  storm, 
as  he  thus  faced  it,  magnificently  master  of 
himself  and  of  the  elements. 

"  'Thou  makest  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise 
Thee,'  '  suddenly  came  his  sonorous  tones,  in 
a  lull  of  the  driving  wind.  "Look,  Joel  Har 
ney,— look  again ! ' ' 

The  dull  glare  had  quickened  now,  and 
mounted  into  flame  and  blaze.  The  boat  had 
forced  its  way  nearer  to  the  shore,  and  on  the 
instant  the  others  saw  where  the  doomed 
building  was. 

' '  Joel,  it  's  our  new  house ! ' '  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Harney. 

It  was  true.  The  imposing  new  frame 
dwelling,  as  yet  unfurnished  and  unoccupied, 
was  in  the  grasp  of  the  fire,  and  the  flames 
were  shooting  up  more  fiercely  with  every 
moment. 

The   wind  was   lessening   a   little,   as   the 


176  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

tempest  swept  eastward  in  its  course.  But 
the  river  was  a  wild  chaos  of  tossing  waves. 

' '  You  have  broken  up  the  homes  of  others, ' ' 
came  the  old  man 's  trumpet  tones  again,  ' i  and 
your  own  shall  be  broken  in  expiation!  The 
spirit  of  the  dead  is  abroad  in  the  storm ! ' ' 

Joel  Harney  was  seized  with  an  uncontrol 
lable  terror.  For  a  moment  he  clung  to  his 
wife,  as  she  had  been  clinging  to  him.  Then  he 
recovered  himself,  and  sat  erect  again,  out 
wardly  stony. 

Slowly,  painfully,  as  the  storm  spent  itself, 
the  boat  struggled  on  toward  the  bank,  head 
ing  toward  a  spot  far  below  the  regular  land 
ing.  It  struggled  on,  while  the  prophet  stood 
with  arm  outstretched,  and  Joel  Harney  fixed 
staring  eyes  on  the  scene  ahead.  And  the 
flames  that  were  devouring  the  house  of  his 
pride  rose  higher  and  higher  into  the  black 
ness  of  the  heavens. 


XIV 

STOCKS  IN  TRADE 

BOTH  the  death  of  George  Burroughs  and 
the  burning  of  Joel  Harney's  new  house 
made  a  profound  impression  in  Prophet's 
Landing.  That  the  two  events  should  have 
happened  on  the  same  day  made  the  impres 
sion  deeper.  More  than  one  of  the  villagers 
seemed  rather  superstitiously  inclined  to  re 
gard  the  latter  event  as  in  some  way  connected 
with  the  former ;  for  many  openly  laid  the  real 
blame  for  the  shoemaker's  breakdown  at  Mr. 
Harney's  door.  Everyone  knew  too  of  old 
Martin  Cass's  loss  on  the  house  contract,  and 
there  were  some  who  vaguely  felt  that  the 
burning  of  the  house  held  also  something  of 
retribution  on  that  score,  and  perhaps  of  warn 
ing  as  well. 

Mr.  Harney,  however,  permitted  himself  to 
be  influenced  by  no  such  superstitions.  The 
house  had  been  fully  insured,  and  as  soon  as 

177 


178  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

the  loss  was  adjusted,  he  took  steps  to  rebuild. 
The  contract  was  given  to  a  large  Hartford 
firm  of  builders;  work  was  promptly  started 
with  the  opening  of  the  spring,  and  the  new 
house,  with  its  formal  central  stoop,  its  man 
sard  roof,  and  its  stiff  "cupalo,"  was  com 
pleted  a  few  months  later. 

Mrs.  Harney  had  strongly  opposed  the  pro 
ject.  Her  original  reluctance  to  move  into  a 
new  home  had  been  intensified  by  the  accident 
of  the  fire.  But  her  husband  decisively  over 
rode  her  protests,  and  in  the  course  of  the  year 
the  family  left  the  old  house  and  took  posses 
sion  of  the  new.  Much  new  furniture  had  been 
purchased  to  accord  with  its  requirements,  and 
much  that  was  old  and  familiar  was  left  behind 
in  the  old  house,  which  remained  unoccupied. 
For  a  long  time  they  all  felt  .an  uncomfortable 
sense  of  unwontedness  and  stiffness  in  their 
new  possessions.  For  Mrs.  Harney,  the  home 
feeling  seemed  wholly  gone.  Often  when  she 
was  out,  she  would  slip  down  the  quiet  side 
street,  insert  her  key  in  the  front  door  of  the 
old  house,  and  spend  a  wistful  half  hour  among 
its  silent  and  happy  memories. 

The  Wollaston  &  Prophet's  Landing  Bail- 
road  was  completed  in  due  time,  and  trains 
began  running  regularly,  the  locomotive 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  179 

whistle  breaking  the  age-long  stillness  of 
Haines'  Woods,  and  the  bell  sounding  un- 
familiarly  as  the  cars  crossed  the  northern  end 
of  the  village  main  street  on  their  way  to  and 
from  the  new  wharf  at  the  river's  edge. 

The  stock  had  been  floated  at  par.  and  had 
been  very  generally  subscribed  for  in  small 
amounts  by  the  residents  of  Prophet 's  Landing 
and  Wollaston  and  of  the  neighboring  country. 
The  treasured  two  hundred  dollars  of  Ezra 
McNamara's  wife  was  but  one  of  numerous 
small  sums  invested  in  this  attractive  under 
taking.  Joel  Harney  was  known  to  be  the 
foster-father  of  the  enterprise,  and  was  presi 
dent  of  the  company  that  had  been  formed; 
and  his  name  and  endorsement  alone  were  suf 
ficient  to  inspire  everyone  with  confidence. 
Dollars  that  had  long  been  toilsomely  accumu 
lating  in  the  little  village  homes  or  in  the 
industrious  farming  households  of  the  neigh 
borhood  were  gathered  together  and  ex 
changed  for  one  or  more  of  the  crisp, 
handsomely  engraved  certificates  issued  by  the 
new  company.  The  hopes  of  all  ran  high. 

Several  months  passed,  life  in  the  river 
village  moving  on  in  its  accustomed  grooves. 
The  local  train  to  Wollaston  proved  a  great 
convenience  to  everyone  who  had  occasion  to 


180  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

go  to  the  larger  town.  People  who  owned  a 
share  or  more  of  the  stock  had  the  satisfaction 
of  reflecting,  as  they  paid  their  fare,  that  the 
sum  went  to  swell  the  road's  receipts,  and  thus 
to  contribute,  though  ever  so  slightly,  to  their 
anticipated  dividends.  The  company  put  up  a 
depot  and  freight-house  at  its  new  wharf,  and 
much  was  hoped  for  from  the  stimulation  of 
the  river  traffic. 

Mr.  Harney  had  allowed  it  to  be  understood 
that  good  earnings  were  to  be  looked  for, 
almost  from  the  start.  As  the  months  went 
slowly  by,  however,  certain  misgivings  found 
voice  in  the  community.  It  began  to  be  whis 
pered  that  the  road's  business  was  not  what 
had  been  anticipated.  The  passenger  traffic 
seemed  fair,  and  was  doubtless  as  much  as  was 
to  be  expected  on  a  local  branch  line  of  such  a 
nature;  but  the  freight  business,  the  real 
source  of  railroad  earnings,  was  plainly  disap 
pointing.  The  few  freight-cars  that  ran  were 
seen  to  be  almost  empty.  The  bulk  of  the  local 
business  clearly  still  went  by  the  main  line,  and 
the  expected  traffic  from  the  river  languished. 
Had  Joel  Harney 's  keen  commercial  judgment 
for  once  been  at  fault? 

Several  persons  decided  to  part  with  their 
shares  at  prices  a  little  below  cost,  not  wish- 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  181 

ing  to  run  the  risk  of  a  possible  further  decline 
in  value.  Everyone  anxiously  awaited  the  new 
company's  first  half-yearly  report.  Mr.  Har- 
ney  expressed  no  opinion  to  inquiries,  explain 
ing  that  as  an  officer  of  the  road  it  would  be 
improper  to  do  so;  but  he  did  not  deny  the 
rumors  of  disappointing  earnings,  and  many 
fancied  that  he  wore  a  look  of  trouble  and 
worry.  Thornton,  who  was  one  of  the  direc 
tors,  said  openly  that  the  prospects  were  far 
from  satisfactory. 

When  the  report  was  made  public,  it  came 
as  a  shock  even  to  those  who  had  feared  bad 
tidings.  The  showing  was  undeniably  bad. 
Earnings  had  not  equalled  running  expenses. 
There  was  much  excited  discussion  in  the  com 
munity.  Many  contended  that  the  line  could 
riot  be  expected  to  show  profits  at  the  begin 
ning,  and  held  to  their  faith  in  Mr.  Harney, 
and  the  shrewd  group  of  directors,  who,  they 
felt,  would  not  have  backed  an  enterprise  so 
heavily  unless  they  had  been  assured  of  its 
success.  But  a  growing  uneasiness  was  never 
theless  felt  by  those  who  owned  stock,  and 
the  price  declined  still  further. 

It  was  at  the  end  of  the  first  full  year  of 
operation  of  the  new  branch  that  a  kind  of 
local  panic  was  brought  about  by  the  publica- 


182  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

tion  of  the  annual  statement,  which  made  a 
much  worse  showing  than  the  half-yearly  one 
had  done.  Where  was  the  traffic  that  had  been 
so  authoritatively  predicted?  What  would 
happen  if  this  sort  of  thing  went  on  for  an 
other  period!  There  were  certain  bonds  ahead 
of  the  stock,  chiefly  taken  up  by  the  directors 
and  by  the  Wollaston  bank,  and  the  line  had 
failed  to  earn  even  the  interest  on  these.  ^The 
price  of  shares  now  fell  wildly.  Small  inves 
tors  in  Wollaston  and  the  Landing,  as  well  as 
in  the  countryside  about,  and  even  over  at 
Easthaven,  sought  to  sell  out,  preferring  after 
all  the  surer  dollar  in  the  chest  or  the  bank. 
But  now  no  one  could  be  found  to  buy,  save 
Mr.  Harney  and  others  of  the  directorate,  and 
then  only  at  nominal  prices,  and,  as  they  de 
clared,  solely  to  oblige  those  who  wished  to 
sell.  When  finally  sales  were  effected,  it  was 
found  that  the  dollar  had  shrunk  to  a  dime. 

Mrs.  McNamara  was  among  those  who 
shared  the  panic  and  sold  at  any  price,  and  she 
and  her  husband  looked  blankly  at  the  meagre 
sum  handed  to  them. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  fully  what  losses  of 
this  kind  mean  among  hard-working  country 
folk.  This  community  was  not  a  rich  one. 
Every  cent  invested  had  been  slowly  earned 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  183 

and  patiently  saved.  Small  denials  on  the 
part  of  husbandman  and  housewife  had  for 
years  been  adding  to  the  modest  hoards  put 
aside  for  a  rainy  day.  And  now  a  part  of 
these  precious  reserves  had  been  whittled  away 
and  the  slow  work  of  accumulation  must  begin 
anew.  Additional  work,  increased'  denials  and 
economies,  would  be  the  penalties  to  be  paid 
for  that  promising  but  disastrous  little  finan 
cial  venture;  besides  the  feelings  of  discour 
agement,  of  despondency,  which  would  cause 
the  losers  to  brood  long  over  the  loss. 

At  this  point,  however,  a  turn  in  the  fortunes 
of  the  branch  road  seemed  to  come.  Evi 
dences  could  be  noted  of  improving  traffic. 
Month  by  month  the  cars,  running  briskly  back 
and  forth,  found  increasing  quantities  of  goods 
to  take  on  from  boats  at  the  new  wharf  and  to 
unload  at  the  Wollaston  depot.  The  directors 
announced  the  acquisition  of  Captain  Prout's 
serviceable  river  craft, — wherries,  lighters  and 
the  like  (a  purchase  enforced  at  little  more 
than  half  their  real  value,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  by  the  threat  that  if  the  terms  were  not 
accepted,  the  company  would  build  and  oper 
ate  its  own  boats  and  utterly  crush  his  com 
petition).  The  volume  of  freight,  hitherto  so 
strangely  small,  seemed  mysteriously  to  ex- 


184  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

pand;  and  as  the  months  went  on  and  the 
road's  earnings  increased,  its  stock  mounted 
steadily  again,  finally  coining  back  to  par. 

The  disappointment  and  dejection  of  the 
many  who  had  lost  on  their  little  investments 
changed  to  suspicion,  and  finally  to  bitter  and 
outspoken  anger. 

"It  's  another  scoundrelly  trick,"  declared 
the  Wollaston  man  who  had  once  denounced 
the  change  of  route  at  the  time  of  the  surveys. 
"This  is  some  more  of  Joel  Harney's  work. 
You  men  don't  understand  that  fellow.  You 
don't  realize  what  's  going  on  here.  He  stands 
straight  and  says  little  and  looks  like  a  deacon, 
but  I  tell  you  he  's  doing  more  harm  in  this 
community  than  any  hundred  deacons  are 
likely  to  undo." 

"I  can't  say  's  I  see  it,"  returned  the  man  he 
was  talking  with.  "Harney  ain't  makin'  the 
freight  grow.  It  's  growin'  of  itself." 

"Stuff!  Don't  you  suppose  the  main  line 
has  all  the  say  about  that?  And  Harney  and 
Pierce  and  the  men  on  the  branch  line  board 
are  hand  in  glove  with  the  others." 

' '  You  mean  they— ' ' 

"Let  the  stock  way  down,  bought  it  cheap, 
;md  now  are  putting  it  up  again.  It  's  as  plain 
as  the  nose  on  your  face.  I  did  n't  get  bitten 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  185 

myself.  But  I  say  the  man  's  a  scoundrel,  all 
the  same." 

Talk  not  quite  so  vehement  but  nevertheless 
actively  indignant  and  hostile  was  also  heard 
in  Prophet's  Landing,  and  some  of  it  reached 
Mr.  Harney's  ears.  He  betrayed  no  sign  of 
feeling  in  return,  but  inwardly  he  winced  un 
der  the  stern  criticism.  Joel  was  not  invulner 
able  to  hostile  comment.  On  the  contrary  he 
was  singularly  sensitive  to  it.  It  angered 
him  that  he  should  be  sensitive,  and  this  hard 
ened  him  outwardly.  In  the  man's  hidden 
nature  a  struggle  was  always  going  on.  His 
acts  were  done  in  the  face  of  an  undying  inner 
protest.  Success  seemed  to  have  no  power  to 
silence  it.  Yet  success  was  too  sweet  to  be 
thrown  aside  for  the  mere  sake  of  inward 
calm,  and  he  had  no  intention  of  throwing  it 
aside.  Instead,  he  enforced  an  outward  calm. 
It  was  as  when  an  autocratic  government  rules 
by  rigid  repression.  Outbreaks  may  shake  it 
for  the  moment,  but  cannot  affect  its  policy. 
Only  a  revolution  can  overturn  it. 

Joel  Harney  composedly  told  inquirers  that 
in  his  opinion  the  earnings  of  the  W.  &  P.  L. 
R.  R.  Co.  would  continue  to  increase  and  that 
he  expected  to  see  the  stock  at  very  high 
figures. 


186  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

There  was  no  little  discussion  in  the  country 
homes  when  this  prediction  became  known.  A 
certain  change  in  feeling  ensued. 

'  *  I  kind  o '  think  mebbe  Joel  's  doin '  the  very 
best  he  kin,  after  all,"  remarked  Ezra  McNa- 
mara  to  his  wife. 

' '  Humph ! ' '  she  sniffed  sarcastically,  contin 
uing  her  dusting  with  eloquent  vigor. 

But  the  next  evening,  she  said : 

"Ezry,  ef  you  an'  Joel  Harney  're  right, 
after  all,  an'  that  stock  's  goin'  a  lot  higher, 
why,  I  've  about  decided  to  buy  a  little  ag'in." 

"Why,  you  did  n't  git  but  a  precious  small 
sum  back,  out  o'  your  two  hunderd,  when  you 
sold." 

' '  I  had  n  't  ought  to  Ve  sold, ' '  she  lamented. 
* '  You  were  a  fool,  Ezry,  to  let  me. ' ' 
Me?    Why,  I  kep'  sayin'  not  to." 
'Well,  you  had  n't  ought  to    Ve  let  me, 
whether  I  wanted  to  or  not.    But  I  Ve  scraped 
together  about  thirty  dollars  more  sence  then, 
you  know;  an'  ef  you  '11  take  that  fifty  dollars 
you  Ve  saved  toward  the  new  farm-wagon,— 

"That  wagon-money?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Why,  I  could  n't  do  that  possibly.  I  Ve  jest 
got  to  have  that  wagon  this  spring." 

"No,  you  c'n  wait  another  year,"  she  in 
sisted.  "That  '11  give  us  a  hunderd  dollars, 


<.  t 
1 1 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  187 

an'  Al  Thornton  told  me  this  mornin'  in  Wol- 
laston  that  he  'd  sell  us  one  of  his  shares  f ' r 
that.  Said  he  'd  be  losin'  money,  'cause  it 
was  wuth  more  'n  par  already.  I  think  't  was 
reel  good  of  him.  An'  I  want  to  hurry  an' 
close  with  him  b'fore  he  changes  his  mind." 

Mrs.  McNamara's  insistence  prevailed,  and 
the  share  was  bought.  Others  also  repur 
chased  stock  at  par  or  higher.  The  road  had 
regained  the  confidence  of  the  honest  little 
local  public,  and  many  who  had  lost  money  in 
their  earlier  venture  now  thought  they  saw 
an  opportunity  to  make  the  loss  good. 

And  a  tragic  event  occurred,  which  operated, 
strangely  enough,  to  give  added  confi 
dence  to  this  feeling.  Wollaston  was  startled 
one  morning  to  learn  that  honest  old  Martin 
Cass,  the  builder,  had  committed  suicide  by 
shooting  himself. 

The  day  brought  out  the  full  facts.  The 
local  evening  paper  stated  that,  a  year  or  more 
previously,  Mr.  Cass  had  had  a  business  loss 
of  about  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars,  which, 
occurring  in  connection  with  some  unfortunate 
investments  and  a  period  of  hard  times,  had 
crippled  him  severely.  Seeking  to  retrieve 
these  misfortunes,  he  had  done  some  specu 
lating  in  the  Boston  market,  for  the  first  time 


188  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

in  his  life,  meeting  at  times  with  gain  but 
more  often  with  loss.  Then  he  had  bought 
stock  in  the  new  branch  line,  when  it  was  first 
marketed  at  100,  and  had  lost  heavily  in  sell 
ing  when  it  had  dropped  to  a  tenth  of  that 
value.  And  on  its  rebound,  believing  now  that 
the  rise  was  but  a  flurry  and  that  the  condition 
of  the  road's  affairs  was  intrinsically  unsound 
after  all,  he  had  sold  a  large  block  short,  and 
had  been  hopelessly  ruined  in  its  continued  and 
remorseless  rise  back  to  par. 

And  so  Wollaston  and  Prophet's  Landing 
talked  and  wondered  and  sympathized,  and  the 
coroner  duly  held  his  inquest,  and  the  body  of 
old  Martin  Cass  was  laid  in  its  grave. 

"Poor  Mr.  Cass!  He  was  a  good  man," 
said  Mrs.  McNamara  to  her  husband  with  real 
sorrow.  "Well,  anyway,  Ezry,  it  goes  to  show 
that  that  stock  's  likely  to  keep  on  goin'  up, 
so  I  'm  glad  we  bought." 

But  to  Joel  Harney  and  his  wife  the  event 
spoke  another  message,  though  neither  talked 
of  it  with  the  other. 

In  fact  husband  and  wife  now  talked  less  and 
less  often  with  each  other  in  any  spirit  of  real 
intimacy.  The  reserve  that  had  slowly  come 
into  their  intercourse  had  deepened.  Mrs. 
Harney 's  misgivings  over  her  husband's  busi- 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  189 

ness  courses  had  steadily  gained  strength  and 
certainty,  and  she  now  was  under  no  illusions 
in  the  matter.  A  few  times  had  she  spoken  out 
her  thoughts  to  him  since  that  day  when  she 
had  pleaded  for  leniency  for  Martin  Cass ;  but 
he  had  never  given  her  satisfaction  in  reply. 
At  length  she  had  come  despairingly  to  feel  the 
futility  of  her  remonstrances,  and  a  dulled 
silence  had  come  in  their  place. 

Olive,  too,  had  withdrawn  herself  more  and 
more  from  her  father.  Since  Steve's  de 
parture,  shortly  after  the  Hallowe'en. party, 
she  had  changed  markedly.  Her  sweet  gayety 
of  spirit  seemed  gone,  and  she  laughed  seldom. 
She  had  grown  a  little  thin  and  pale,  as 
her  mother  noted  with  concern,  and  she  ap 
peared  in  many  ways  older  and  more  mature. 

The  increasing  if  indefinable  reserve  shown 
by  Mrs.  Harney  and  Olive  toward  Mr.  Harney 
could  not  but  be  noticed  by  Josie,  and  it  had 
its  influence  upon  her.  She  was  scarcely  aware 
of  any  change  in  her  own  attitude,  being  still, 
as  in  childhood,  a  firm  admirer  and  adorer  o£ 
her  father ;  yet  she  unconsciously  caught  some 
thing  of  the  same  reserve. 

All  this  Mr.  Harney  vaguely  felt,  and  as  a 
result,  his  thoughts  came  more  and  more  to 
centre  around  Jay.  It  was  Jay  upon  whom  his 


190  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

great  business  interests  would  in  time  devolve, 
and  who  might,  he  hoped,  extend  and  expand 
them  still  more  widely.  It  was  Jay  who  was 
to  bear  his  name  and  keep  alive  the  firm  and 
title  of  J.  Harney  &  Son.  The  father  found 
himself  unconsciously  building  on  the  son's 
growth  and  development,  and  looking  forward 
to  the  time,  still  many  years  ahead,  when  they 
should  be  equals  and  comrades. 

Yet  with  all  this,  Joel  failed  to  put  himself 
on  terms  of  real  intimacy  with  his  boy.  Per 
haps  h§  did  not  quite  know  how  to  set  about  it. 
It  was  Mr.  Harney 's  misfortune  to  lack  a  cer 
tain  quality  which  wins  and  gives  intimacy. 
While  he  watched  and  exulted  in  his  son,  and 
the  lad  looked  up  to  and  admiringly  copied  his 
father,  neither  was  at  bottom  acquainted  with 
the  other,  and  the  signs  of  their  being  some 
day  equals  and  comrades  were  faint  and 
scarcely  discernible. 

Jay  was  a  healthy,  good-looking  lad,  full  of 
animal  spirits,  and  with  certain  traits  of  reck 
lessness  and  a  tendency  to  domineer  which  his 
mother  sought  vainly  to  correct.  He  wanted 
his  way,  and  when  his  mind  was  set  upon  a 
project,  nothing  availed  to  turn  him  from  his 
purpose.  At  school  he  was  studying  hard. 
His  teachers  declared  that  he  had  great  possi- 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  191 

bilities  in  him,  but  they  admitted  among  them 
selves  that  these  possibilities  might  need 
direction. 

The  new  house  was  proving  itself  convenient 
and  comfortable,  and  the  family  had  finally 
more  or  less  adjusted  themselves  to  its  ele 
gance  and  comparative  formalities.  Mr.  Har- 
ney  frequently  brought  Mr.  Pierce  or  some 
other  Wollaston  business  acquaintance  to  din 
ner  or  supper,  and  Mrs.  Harney  did  consid 
erable  neighborhood  entertaining.  Yet  they 
missed  something,  they  knew  not  what.  It 
all  seemed  provisional  and  temporary,  unlike 
the  life  in  the  old  house  on  the  side  street. 
Not  only  from  Mrs.  Harney  but  from  the 
others  the  dear  home  feeling  had  slipped  away, 
and  they  could  not  bring  it  back.  When  off 
for  an  afternoon's  sleigh-ride  behind  the 
ponies,  something  would  occasionally  call  to 
mind  the  Thanksgiving  ride  they  had  taken 
when  Olive  came  home  from  boarding-school, 
and  they  would  realize  that  the  free,  joyous 
spirit  of  that  day  was  not  wholly  with  them 
now.  And  then  Mrs.  Harney  would  recall 
their  drawing  up  before  the  gate  of  the  old 
prophet's  stone  house  on  the  Point,  and  the 
warning  injunction  that  he  had  given  with  his 
burning  black  eyes  fixed  on  her  husband;  and 


192  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

her  own  eyes  would  fasten  themselves  on 
Joel's  form,  as  he  sat  erect  in  the  driving- 
seat  in  front  of  her,  and  she  would  sigh  deeply. 

One  day  Mr.  Harney  took  Olive  for  a  drive 
alone,  in  the  smaller  cutter. 

' '  You  did  n  't  see  Thornton  when  he  dropped 
in,  last  evening,"  he  said,  as  they  sped  along 
the  river  road. 

"No,"  she  said  indifferently.  "I  was  feel 
ing  rather  tired,  and  did  n't  care  to  come 
down." 

' '  He  wishes  to  see  you  specially,  I  think. ' ' 

The  girl  looked  up  quickly.  "See  me? 
About  what!" 

' l  That  is  for  him  to  tell  you.  I  want  you  to 
hear  what  he  has  to  say. ' ' 

She  understood  then. 

"If  you  mean  that  he  wishes  to  propose  mar 
riage,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  need  for  me  to 
hear  it,  for  I  should  tell  him  no." 

Her  father  frowned.  "You  are  old  enough 
now  to  be  reasonable,"  he  observed.  "Thorn 
ton  is  a  rising  man.  He  has  been  of  great 
service  to  me.  He  can  be  of  still  greater.  I 
want  you  to  give  him  a  hearing." 

' '  In  payment  for  service  to  you  ? ' '  she  asked, 
her  lip  curling  a  little.  "It  will  be  better  to 
increase  his  salary." 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  193 

"Don't  be  impertinent,"  he  said  sharply. 

"Forgive  me,  father,"  she  said  with  com 
punction.  "I  ought  n't  to  have  spoken  so. 
But  I  dislike  and  distrust  Mr.  Thornton,  and  I 
want  to  see  him  as  little  as  possible. ' ' 

Mr.  Harney  gave  the  horse  a  cut  with  his 
whip. 

"You  would  think  differently  of  him  if  you 
would  let  yourself,"  he  said.  "You  have  an 
idea  that  you  dislike  him,  that  is  all. ' ' 

* '  Even  supposing  that  were  true,  I  could  not 
encourage  him." 

"Why  not?" 

' '  Because  I  have  promised  to  wait  for  Steve 
Baird." 

"What!"  he  exclaimed.  "Is  n't  that  boy 
and  girl  affair  over!" 

"It  will  never  be  over,  I  think,  father," 
Olive  said  simply. 

"Has  he  been  binding  you  by  promises?" 

"He  has  never  asked  for  promises,  since  his 
losses  here,— since  he  decided  to  go  away.  I 
gave  him  the  promises  without  his  asking  me. ' ' 

"I  refuse  to  sanction  them,"  he  said  vehe 
mently.  ' '  I  will  not  consent  to  your  marrying 
Stephen  Baird  at  any  time." 

"Why  do  you  oppose  him  so,  father?"  asked 
the  girl.  ' '  Steve  is  true  and  fine  and  brave. ' ' 


194  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"What  has  he  done?"  demanded  Mr.  Har- 
ney  contemptuously. 

"That  is  n't  all  the  test  there  is." 

"Yes,  it  is.  It  's  the  way  I  measure  men. 
Thornton  would  have  had  a  good  business 
established  at  young  Baird's  age." 

' '  Steve  was  very  unfortunate  when  that  rail 
road  route  was  changed." 

"That  was  his  lookout.  A  man  has  no  ex 
cuse  for  being  unfortunate." 

"Well,"  said  Olive  firmly,  "Steve  is  ten 
years  younger  than  Mr.  Thornton.  He  is 
young  enough  and  plucky  enough  to  do  lots  of 
things  in  that  time." 

Mr.  Harney  resented  a  certain  finality  in  his 
daughter's  tone. 

"I  want  you  to  understand,  Olive,  that  this 
matter  shall  never  come  to  anything  so  far  as 
my  will  is  concerned.  You  can  do  vastly  better 
in  life.  A  young  girl  is  imaginative.  She 
can 't  always  judge  for  herself. ' ' 

"I  can  never  let  another  judge  for  me  in 
this  question,— not  even  you,  father." 

He  frowned  again. 

' '  Once  for  all, ' '  he  said,  ' '  I  will  not  consent 
to  your  marrying  Baird  under  any  circum 
stances.  You  need  never  open  the  subject  to 
rne.  Some  day  you  will  come  to  realize  that 


STOCKS  IN  TRADE  195 

others  can  judge  better  than  you  can.  And 
the  next  time  that  Thornton  calls,  I  desire  you 
to  see  him." 

He  turned  the   sleigh,   and  drove  rapidly 
home. 


XV 


HOME    TRUTHS 

;<TT  's  jest  as  much  robbery  as  breakin'  into 
JL  a  body's  house;  an'  that  's  what  I  came 
here  to  tell  ye!" 

Mrs.  McNamara  was  excited.  She  took  a 
step  forward,  and  emphasized  her  points  with 
her  forefinger. 

"It 's  been  droppin'  an'  droppin'  f 'r  more  'n 
two  months,  an'  Ezry  he  wanted  to  sell,  but 
I  would  n't,  'cause  I  felt  sure  it  'd  go  up  and 
after  what  they  said  you  said  about  it.  An' 
it  's  kep'  on  droppin',  an'  the  man  at  the  bank 
over  in  Wollaston  this  mornin'  told  me  they 
were  n't  payin'  but  twenty-seven  f 'r  it  today." 

"Did  you  sell?" 

"Yes,  I  sold,  f'r  I  'd  ruther  have  twenty- 
seven  than  seventeen  or  ten.  An'  that  's 
where  it  's  goin'  to,  Joel  Harney,  jest  as  it 
did  b 'fore,  an'  it  's  you  that  's  done  it,— -I  don't 
keer  what  you  say,  lookin '  at  me  with  that  cold 

196 


HOME  TRUTHS  197 

face  o'  yours.  That  's  all  that  's  left  o'  the 
two  hunderd  dollars  Uncle  Wells  left  me,  an' 
of  eighty  more  that  Ezry  an'  I  'd  got  saved  up. 
He  was  goin'  to  git  him  a  farm-wagon.  He 
can't  now." 

Mrs.  McNamara  was  standing  in  the  rear 
office  of  the  Harney  store  in  Prophet's  Land 
ing,  and  Mr.  Harney,  who  had  been  at  the  high 
desk  writing  an  answer  to  a  telegram,  had 
quitted  his  lofty  stool  as  she  entered  and  was 
standing  also. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  draw  you  a  check 
for  two  hundred  and'  fifty-three  dollars,  "Mrs. 
McNamara, ' '  came  his  even  tones  in  reply,  ' '  if 
you  think  you  lost  it  through  me." 

"I  don't  want  your  charity,"  she  returned, 
her  voice  rising.  "All  I  want  is  to  let  you 
know  what  you  Ve  done,  an'  what  I  feel  about 
it,  an'  lots  of  others  b 'sides.  The  world  ain't 
any  the  happier  f 'r  your  livin'  in  it,  Joel  Har 
ney,  an'  I  tell  ye  so  to  your  face." 

Again  the  man's  inner  nature  winced,  and 
again  his  outward  manner  stiffened  in  self- 
protection. 

"You  are  speaking  inconsiderately,  Mrs. 
McNamara,"  he  said.  "I  am  sorry  if  you 
have  lost  money.  I  have  offered  to  make  it 
good.  But  I  decline  to  accept  blame  for  your 


198  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

unfortunate  investments.  People  buy  or 
sell  stocks  at  their  peril.  And  I  can't  control 
the  railroad's  good  or  bad  earnings." 

"That  ain't  true,  an'  you  know  it,"  she 
asseverated  bluntly.  "  You  an'  those  men  with 
you  jest  make  or  break  that  road  exactly  as 
you  please.  An'  you  take  in  other  people's 
dollars  by  it  each  time.  Ef  you  see  the  dif- 
f  rence  b 'tween  that  an'  housebreakin',  honest 
folks  don't." 

The  storekeeper's  face  paled.  Men  did  not 
say  such  things  to  him,  and  no  woman  had 
hitherto  done  so.  He  was  uncomfortably 
aware  of  what  many  people  thought  and  said 
about  his  acts,  but  this  brusque  arraignment 
lighted  them  up  with  new  vividness. 

"From  your  father  to  you,— it  's  a  big 
change!"  she  added  fiercely.  "An'  from  you 
to  your  son,— is  that  goin'  to  be  a  worse  change 
still?" 

He  started,  as  at  a  sudden  and  acute  thrust. 

"Be  silent,  Mrs.  McNamara,  about  my  son 
and  my  family ! "  he  broke  in  sternly.  ' '  I  have 
endured  your  talk  about  me,  for  I  realize  that 
you  are  excited  and  not  yourself.  But  now  you 
have  said  enough." 

"I  have  n't  said  enough,  but  I  've  said  what 
I  came  to  say,"  she  retorted,  "an'  I  feel 


HOME  TRUTHS  199 

better.  It  's  what  others  're  sayin'  too.  You 
had  plenty  of  friends  an'  well-wishers,  here 
an'  over  in  Wollaston,  years  ago,  Joel  Harney ; 
you  've  got  precious  few  now." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  a  little  mistaken  about 
that  last,"  returned  Mr.  Harney  quietly.  He 
turned  to  the  desk  and  took  in  his  hand  an 
opened  telegram  lying  there.  "This  was 
handed  to  me,  a  little  before  you  came  in.  I 
have  just  been  nominated  for  State  Senator." 

His  visitor  stared  at  the  yellow  paper  in 
his  hand. 

"Well,  all  I  've  got  to  say,"  she  began, 
"is—" 

"I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me  now,  Mrs. 
McNamara, "  he  interrupted  with  finality, 
opening  the  office  door.  "It  is  late  in  the 
afternoon,  and  I  must  go  home.  I  have  heard 
what  you  came  to  say.  Should  you  wish  my 
check  later,  I  will  draw  it.  Good  afternoon. ' ' 

Left  alone,  Mr.  Harney  finished  the  answer 
he  had  been  writing  to  the  telegram.  The 
nomination  was  not  unexpected.  In  fact,  it 
had  been  patiently  and  persistently  worked  for. 
Thornton,  as  his  agent,  had  done  effective 
political  work  for  him  during  the  preceding 
months,  and  he  had  paid  the  bills  without  ask 
ing  to  see  the  vouchers.  For  several  days  he 


200  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

had  known  that  the  result  was  assured.  Yet 
there  was  the  gratifying  surety  of  an  accom 
plished  fact,  the  zest  of  tangible  triumph,  in 
the  message  on  the  yellow  paper  before  him. 
Soon  he  was  on  the  way  home  to  tell  his  wife 
the  news. 

Mrs.  Harney  was  in  the  sitting-room.  She 
too  had  a  telegram  in  her  hand,  but  she 
crumpled  it  out  of  sight  as  her  husband  was 
heard  entering  the  house. 

He  was  rather  chagrined  at  her  unheeding 
reception  of  his  tidings.  He  had  not  told  her 
before  of  his  political  plans,  intending  to  sur 
prise  her. 

"You  don't  seem  very  much  surprised,"  he 
said  somewhat  petulantly;  "or  even  inter 
ested.  A  State  Senatorship  is  something  more 
or  less  worth  while." 

"Is  it!"  she  repeated.     "Of  course,— yes; 
I  know  that.    I  'm  glad,  I  'm  sure.    I  Ve— : 
She  paused. 

"Well,  what?"  he  demanded  impatiently. 
1 '  You  seem  to  be  thinking  of  something  else. ' ' 

"I  Ve  just  had  a  telegram,  Joel." 

"A  telegram!  You!"  he  said,  a  little  star 
tled.  "Who  sent  it?" 

"Olive.  She  took  the  train  to  Boston  this 
morning.  She  came  and  told  me  before  she 


HOME  TRUTHS  201 

left.  Steve  Baird  met  her  at  the  Boston  sta 
tion,  and  they  've  just  been  married. ' ' 

Joel  stood  stunned.  The  news  was  like  a 
blow  in  the  face. 

' '  She  said  she  had  had  a  letter  from  him  yes 
terday,"  Mrs.  Harney  went  on.  "I  told  you 
once  that  his  uncle  had  given  him  a  position. 
He  has  had  a  sudden  promotion.  Also  he  is  to 
be  sent  on  a  six  months'  Western  trip,  and  he 
osked  Olive  if  she  would  marry  him  so  that 
they  could  go  together." 

"Why  did  n't  you  tell  me?"  demanded  Mr. 
Harney  savagely. 

"You  had  already  gone  to  Wollaston." 

"You  could  have  telegraphed  me,  could  n't 
you?  or  sent  word  somehow." 

' '  What  good  would  it  have  done  ?  Olive  left 
by  ten. ' ' 

"You  did  n't  try  to  prevent  her,  I  presume," 
he  snapped. 

"No,  Joel,  I  did  n't,  I  have  known  that 
there  's  been  an  understanding  between  them 
ever  since  Steve  left  here.  Olive  said  she  had 
told  you  too,  the  other  day." 

"I  refused  to  consent  to  it." 

"I  approved  it  entirely,"  said  his  wife  with 
decision.  "Olive  would  never  care  for  any 
one  else.  And  Steve  is  worthy  of  her  caring. ' ' 


202  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"This  is  outrageous!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Har- 
ney,  pacing  the  floor  in  growing  rage.  "Our 
own  daughter,— to  leave  us  like  this,  with 
scarcely  a  word,  and  go  after  that  young 
rapscallion.  I  can 't  believe  it.  Let  's  see  that 
telegram. ' ' 

He  scanned  it. 

"It  's  simply  crazy!  Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  had  n't  an  inkling  of  what  was  going  on 
till  this  morning1?" 

"I  Ve  told  you  all  I  knew,  Joel,"  said  Mrs. 
Harney  with  dignity.  "I  knew  that  Olive 
loved  Steve,  and  that  he  loved  her.  They  have 
corresponded  regularly  since  he  left,  as  you 
and  I  have  both  been  aware.  I  did  not  know 
that  she  was  to  leave  us  and  get  married,  and 
never  imagined  such  a  thing.  Neither  did  she, 
till  his  letter  came  yesterday." 

He  resumed  his  pacing  of  the  floor. 

"It  's  awkward,— confoundedly  awkward," 
he  muttered. 

"What  's  awkward?" 

"I  was  meaning  to  have  another  talk  with 
Olive  myself  in  a  day  or  two.  Fact  is,—  " 
He  paused. 

"Well?" 

"The  fact  is,  Ellen,  I  intended  she  should 
marry  Thornton,"  he  said. 


HOME  TRUTHS  203 

"She  never  would  have  done  that,"  his 
wife  answered  with  conviction. 

"Oh,  you  thought  so,  and  so  did  she.  That 
was  only  an  idea.  Loving  a  person  is  mostly 
making  up  your  mind  that  you  do.  It  's  a 
good  deal  a  matter  of  imagination.  That  's 
what  I  told  her,  the  other  day.  Olive  has 
always  imagined  she  disliked  Thornton.  Let 
her  try  imagining  she  liked  him,  for  awhile, 
and  you  'd  soon  see  the  difference.  That  's  all 
I  meant  to  ask  of  her." 

"It  's  a  poor  view  of  love,  Joel.  Was  yours 
and  mine  like  that?" 

' '  Not  at  all.  But  it  's  the  fact  pretty  often. 
Thornton  's  an  able  man." 

"You  said  something  about  it  's  being  awk 
ward." 

"Never  mind  about  that,"  he  said  quickly. 
"I  had  other  wishes.  But  the  thing  's  done 
now.  I  don't  suppose  we  can  help  it." 

He  paused  in  his  walk. 

"I  can't  forgive  her!"  he  burst  out. 

He  was  excessively  surprised  and  disturbed 
by  the  news  he  had  heard.  The  thought  that 
Olive  had  drifted  so  far  away  from  him  as  to 
take  such  a  step  as  this  without  informing  him 
came  as  a  shock.  That  he  had  drifted  so  far 
from  her  as  to  have  been  willing  to  favor  her 


204  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

marriage  with  Al  Thornton  purely  for  rea 
sons  of  his  own,  was  a  counter  reflection  which 
did  not  strike  him. 

Mrs.  Harney  did  not  reply  to  his  outburst. 
She  heard  him  absently,  engrossed  with  a 
mother's  thoughts  of  her  newly  married 
daughter. 

"I  hope  they  '11  be  happy,"  she  said  wist 
fully.  "And  I  'm  sure  they  will." 

"They  '11  have  to  be  happy  in  their  own 
way,  then,"  said  Olive's  father  grimly.  "If 
that  young  fellow  's  looking  for  me  to  support 
him,"- 

' '  You  know  he  is  n  't ! "  flashed  Mrs.  Harney. 
"He  's  working  hard  and  doing  well,  Olive 
told  me,  not  long  ago." 

"Well,  it  's  a  good  thing  he  is.  It  's  simply 
crazy ! "  he  burst  out  again,  striding  back  and 
forth.  "I  have  n't  grasped  the  thing  at  all, 
yet.  What  with  the  telegram  at  the  office 
about  this  senatorship  nomination,  and  your 
telegram  from  Olive,  I  've  had  more  than  I 
can  seem  to  get  hold  of." 

"I  have  n't  really  grasped  it  yet,  either," 
said  his  wife.  "But  I  'm  quite  sure  I  'm 
glad." 

She  had  picked  up  the  crumpled  telegram, 
and  sat  there  gazing  at  it,  with  a  soft,  rapt 


HOME  TRUTHS  205 

smile  upon  her  face.  So  full  was  she  of  her 
thoughts  that  she  scarcely  heard  Mr.  Harney 
somewhat  abruptly  leave  the  room. 

"Dear  Olive!"  said  the  loving  mother-heart 
within  itself,  again  and  again.  "Oh,  I  do  hope 
she  '11  be  happy ! ' ' 


XVI 

THE  GAGE  OF  BATTLE 

THE  candidate  for  State  Senator  entered 
on  his  campaign  with  determination  and 
energy.  He  welcomed  the  work  as  a  means  of 
distracting  his  thoughts  from  his  daughter's 
home-leaving.  More  and  more  the  significance 
of  her  step  stood  out  before  him,  with  all  that 
it  had  meant  of  lessened  home  ties.  Had  Olive 
been  the  girl  she  used  to  be,  she  would,  as  her 
father  knew  well,  have  come  to  him  long  be 
fore  this  could  have  happened,  and  would  have 
had  open,  trustful  talks  with  him.  She  had 
changed.  Or  had  he!  Repeatedly  his  refrac 
tory  subconscious  ponderings  led  suddenly 
against  the  question,  like  some  pointing,  accus 
ing  finger.  And  he  refused  to  follow  his 
thoughts  further,  summoning  to  his  help  the 
feeling  of  indignation  at  his  daughter's  act, 
and  stubbornly  shutting  off  further  reflection. 
The  activity  of  the  campaign  was  most  op- 

206 


THE  GAGE  OF  BATTLE  207 

portune.  He  was  already  fully  occupied,  one 
would  have  said,  with  his  two  stores,  with  the 
railroad  and  river  traffic,  with  the  concerns  of 
the  Wollaston  bank,  of  which  he  had  been 
made  vice-president,  and  with  his  numerous 
investments  and  outside  business  interests. 
But  he  was  a  man  who,  however  busy,  could 
always  find  time  for  new  tasks  and  opportuni 
ties  ;  and  it  soon  became  apparent  that  the  sen- 
atorship  fight  would  call  for  all  the  time  he 
could  give  it  and  would  bring  into  action  his 
keenest  mental  resources. 

For  opposition  rapidly  developed,  and  it 
proved  to  be  deeper  and  stronger  than  he  had 
at  all  anticipated.  Joel  Harney  had  made 
many  enemies  in  these  last  years  of  advance. 
Envious  acquaintances,  rivals  in  business,  mer 
chants  who  had  latterly  been  forced  against 
the  wall  by  his  irresistible  competition,  invest 
ors  who  had  lost  through  his  adroit  manipula 
tions,  the  circles  who  knew  and  sympathized 
with  George  Burroughs  and  Martin  Cass  and 
with  others  whose  very  lives  he  had  crushed,— 
all  these  rose  against  him.  As  day  after  day 
brought  new  developments  in  the  campaign,  he 
sometimes  stood  appalled  at  evidences  of  the 
enemies  he  had  made  and  the  strength  and 
bitterness  of  the  feeling  against  him. 


208  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

Yet  he  steeled  himself,  as  always,  and  pre 
pared  to  fight  with  the  same  merciless  vigor 
with  which  he  carried  on  operations  in  busi 
ness.  The  opposing  candidate  had  a  record 
which  was  open  to  attack,  and  Harney's  lieu 
tenants  attacked  it  without  ceasing.  He  him 
self,  in  consultation  with  the  astute  Thornton, 
who  acted  as  his  political  manager,  directed 
the  scope  of  operations,  and  his  men  were 
at  work  throughout  the  entire  district.  More 
over,  he  was  by  no  means  without  strong  sup 
porters.  Many  people  believed  in  Joel 
Harney,  admired  his  success,  were  locally 
proud  of  his  achievements.  Many  were  bound 
to  him  by  business  ties.  Many  in  his  church 
circle  and  on  benevolent  boards  kept  in  mind 
his  regular  and  liberal  if  not  spontaneous  gifts 
to  religion  and  charity;  the  Rev.  Mr.  White- 
house,  for  example,  coming  out  as  his  staunch 
advocate.  And  many  of  the  older  men,  es 
pecially  in  Prophet's  Landing,  remembering 
with  lasting  affection  the  gentle,  blameless, 
honorably  useful  life  of  his  father,  Jacob  Har 
ney,  aligned  themselves  with  the  son  for  the 
father's  sake. 

Thornton  had  been  extraordinarily  upset 
and  chagrined  at  the  news  of  Olive's  mar 
riage  to  Stephen  Baird.  In  his  furtive,  per- 


THE  GAGE  OF  BATTLE  209 

sistent  way  he  had  won  success  in  most  of  his 
schemings,  and  he  had  counted  on  assuredly 
winning  it  here.  He  had  seemed  almost  as 
much  discomposed  as  was  his  employer,  when 
the  latter  had  told  him ;  but  the  thing  was  done, 
and  there  was  nothing  for  it  save  to  nurse  his 
latent  fury  against  Baird,  and  now  to  include 
Olive  also  in  its  scope.  As  to  his  relations  with 
her  father  and  any  hold  which  they  gave  him, 
he  found  himself  disappointed  in  the  thing  he 
had  most  hoped  for  as  a  result;  but  the  hold 
was  still  effective,  and  he  would  bide  his  time 
to  make  other  demands. 

While  the  campaign  was  fairly  under  way,  a 
visitor  came  to  stay  for  a  few  days  in  the  Har- 
ney  household.  This  was  Mun  Wetherill, 
whose  interest  in  Prophet's  Landing  and  its 
people  had  not  abated  from  the  time  of  his 
advent  there  in  charge  of  the  railroad  survey 
ing  party."  He  had  found  occasion  to  run  over 
from  Worcester  to  Wollaston  a  number  of 
times  since  then,  and  was  a  frequent  caller  at 
the  Harneys'.  This  time,  he  had  come,  as  he 
laughingly  said,  to  see  something  of  a  Connec 
ticut  election  time,  which  he  had  heard  was 
much  more  animated  and  stirring  than  that  in 
Massachusetts.  The  pretext  was  of  shame 
lessly  flimsy  material,  but  it  had  secured  him 


210  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

an  invitation  to  stay  in  the  Harney  home  itself, 
and  he  accepted  this  with  joyful  alacrity. 

On  the  afternoon  of  his  coming,  Josie  and 
he  went  for  a  stroll,  directing  their  light- 
hearted  steps  toward  the  Finlays'  house. 
Josie  and  Bess  were  sworn  chums,  and  Mun 
had  formed  a  liking  for  Zenas  Finlay  on  the 
day  of  their  first  informal  greeting  out  in  the 
field,— a  liking  which  had  held  firmly  ever 
since.  Possibly  it  was  due  to  the  feeling  that 
but  for  Zenas 's  unconventional  introductions 
on  that  occasion,  he  might  not  have  come  into 
the  present  friendly  contact  with  the  village 
life  which  he  enjoyed  so  zestfully. 

Zenas  was  mending  a  plough-handle,  out  in 
his  tool-shop  in  the  barn. 

"Glad  to  see  ye,"  he  said  cordially,  as  the 
two  invaded  the  precincts.  "How  air  ye, 
Mun?  Layin'  some  new  rails!"  He  glanced 
quizzically  at  Josie  as  he  spoke. 

"Yes,"  smiled  Wetherill  boldly.  "Though 
I  can't  tell  where  they  '11  lead  to,  yet." 

"Well,  I  hope  the  route  won't  git  changed, 
the  way  the  other  was,"  commented  Mr.  Fin- 
lay.  "I  wish  you  'd  take  holt  of  the  other  end 
of  this  thing  for  a  minute,  Mun,  while  I  cut 
a  notch,— so!  Hold  it  firm.  I  heerd  ye  'd 
come  to  town,  to  listen  to  some  o'  the  speech- 


THE  GAGE  OF  BATTLE  211 

makin'.  I  don't  go  to  hear  'em  talk,  any 
more." 

"Why  not!" 

"  'Fraid  they  '11  call  on  me  to  take  part. 
Same  reason  that  so  many  folks  stay  away 
fr'm  prayer-meetin'. "  Zenas  grinned,  as  he 
cut  away  at  the  notch  in  the  long,  curving 
handle,  polished  and  worn  by  use.  "That  re 
minds  me, ' '  he  went  on.  ' l  They  did  use  to  call 
on  me  a  good  deal  at  these  p'litical  gather- 
in  's ;  ye  see  they  knew  I  was  gen  'rally  ready  to 
palaver.  Well,  one  night  there  was  a  kind  o' 
j'int  debatin'  meetin'  announced,  an'  both  the 
candidates  was  to  speak.  It  was  a  State  Sena 
tor  fight,  here  in  this  district,  jest  like  this. 
Well,  they  both  made  their  argyments,  an'  it 
was  pretty  hot  talk  too,  an'  then  they  was  wait- 
in'  f  r  a  feller  fr'm  Hartford  that  was  a  great 
oraytor  an'  that  they  'd  engaged  to  come  up 
here  an'  give  the  Democratic  side  a  boost. 
While  tlie  hull  hall  was  waitin',  an'  poundin' 
its  feet,  an'  gittin'  uneasy,  some  one  gave  a  call 
f 'r  me,  bein'  a  Democrat  too,  an'  the  rest  took 
it  up,  an'  so  I  climbed  up  on  the  platform  an' 
started  in." 

Both  the  young  people  were  listening  with 
interest.  Josie  had  seated  herself  on  a  low 
box,  and  her  bright  eyes  were  fixed  on  Zenas  '& 


212  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

long,  humorous  face,  as  he  talked  and  worked. 
Mun  was  no  longer  needed  at  the  plough- 
handle,  so  he  took  a  seat  beside  her. 

"While  I  was  talkin'  along,  an'  people  was 
titterin'  here  an'  there  at  what  I  was  sayin', 
an'  clappin'  some,  in  came  the  Hartford  oray- 
tor,  late  an'  flustered.  He  saw  me  jawin' 
away,  an'  he  begun  to  whisper  questions  to 
the  men  with  him  about  what  I  'd  done  in  life, 
an'  who  my  wife  was,  an'  whether  I  was  over 
sharp  at  a  hoss  trade,  an'  all  the  things  in  a 
man's  hist'ry  he  c'd  think  of;  an'  the  men 
told  him,  naturally  enough,  not  knowin'  what 
he  was  drivin'  at.  Well,  sir,  after  I  'd  got 
through,  he  climbed  up  there,  an'  he  gave  me 
the  almightiest  dressin'  down  you  ever  heerd. 
Why,  there  warn 't  a  thing  he  did  n  't  accuse  me 
of,  an'  he  had  a  good  flow  of  words  too.  You 
'd  've  thought  I  had  horns  an'  a  forked  tail! 
Everybody  jest  sat  there  knocked  endwise. 
It  took  me  full  five  minutes  to  reelize  what 
was  goin'  on,  an'  to  make  out  how  it  come 
about." 

Mr.  Finlay  paused,  and  shifted  his  quid  with 
a  reminiscent  chuckle. 

"What  was  it?"  inquired  Mun. 

"He  took  me  f'r  the  opposition  candidate, 
ye  see.  I  guess  my  speech  that  he  heerd  could 


THE  GAGE  OF  BATTLE  213 

n't  've  been  very  much  to  the  p'int,— they 
sometimes  ain't;  an'  so  he  got  a  wrong  idee." 

Mr.  Finlay  worked  leisurely  on.  He  had 
evidently  reached  the  end  of  his  story. 

"What  did  you  do?"  inquired  Wetherill, 
with  keen  enjoyment. 

"Me!  Oh,  when  I  saw  how  it  was,  I  jest 
stood  up  ag'in  an'  held  up  my  hand  a  minute 
till  he  found  a  chance  to  stop,  an'  then  I  said, 
'young  feller,'  says  I,  'you  're  barkin'  up  the 
wrong  tree.  There  's  your  coon,  over  there.' 
An'  you  'd  ought  to  Ve  heerd  that  audience 
holler  an'  cheer.  I  don'  know  which  enj'yed 
it  most,  they  or  me." 

"I  don't  believe  the  Hartford  man  did,  any 
way,"  laughed  Josie. 

"Sence  then,  howsomever,"  resumed  Zenas, 
"I  hain't  been  to  p'litical  gatherin's  much. 
I  concluded  that  p'litical  speakin'  warn't  my 
best  holt.  I  go  to  prayer-meetin'  regular, 
b 'cause  I  ain't  one  that  they  seem  to  call  on 
there." ' 

"I  wish  you  would  make  a  speech  in  prayer- 
meeting  some  night,  Mr.  Finlay,"  said  Josie, 
with  an  irrepressible  giggle  of  delight.  "Per 
haps  it  would  make  Mr.  Wetherill  come." 

' '  You  bet  it  would, ' '  asserted  that  gentleman 
with  promptness. 


214  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"I  'm  afeard  I  'd  break  up  the  meeting' ' 
Zenas  said  mournfully.  ''I  did  rise  an'  say 
somethin'  once,— 't  was  soon  after  I  was  mar 
ried;  an'  sence  then,  my  wife— 

"Oh,  do  tell  us  about  it!"  pleaded  the  girl 
eagerly. 

"Can't  now.  There  's  Bess,  drivin'  up,  out 
at  the  front  gate.  She  's  been  out  with  Al 
Thornton  an'  his  mare." 

Wetherill  sprang  up  from  the  box  at  this, 
and  hastened  across  the  yard  and  through  the 
gate  to  the  road,  where  he  helped  Bessie  to 
alight.  Thornton  and  he  exchanged  scarcely 
perceptible  nods,  glaring  at  each  other  with 
undisguised  hostility.  And  again  Wetherill 
found  himself  inwardly  exclaiming,  "Where 
have  I  seen  that  fellow  before  I  saw  him 
here?" 

Josie  and  he  got  Bessie  to  go  with  them  for 
a  long,  happy  walk  through  Haines'  Woods; 
but  frequently  Mun's  boyish  face  wore  a  look 
of  perplexity  as  he  searched  his  mind  for  a 
forgotten  clue. 

On  the  way  home,  after  leaving  Bessie  at 
her  house,  he  asked  Josie  what  was  known 
about  Thornton  in  Prophet's  Landing,  and  she 
told  him  the  little  that  she  knew. 

' '  I  feel  afraid  of  him,  somehow, ' '  she  added. 


THE  GAGE  OF  BATTLE  215 

' 1 1  Ve  a  great  mind  to  tell  you  something,  Mr. 
Wetherill." 

' '  I  wish  you  would,  if  I  can  help  you  in  any 
thing, "  said  he  earnestly. 

"Well,  I  accidentally  overheard  Mr.  Thorn 
ton  and  father  talking  together,  one  day,  and 
what  Mr.  Thornton  said  worried  me  a  great 
deal.  He  seemed  to  think  he  had  got  some  hold 
over  father.  Of  course  it  could  n't  be  true, 
but  I  did  n't  like  his  tone  and  manner  a  bit." 

She  told  Mun  the  few  words  she  had  heard, 
and  the  young  man  listened  keenly. 

"Maybe  I  can  take  a  hand  in  that  game," 
he  quietly  said  after  a  little;  but  he  did  not 
explain  himself  any  further. 


XVII 


OF  THE  MOUTHS  OF  BABES  " 

THE  campaign  went  on.  It  was  presently 
given  an  unexpected  turn  by  an  an 
nouncement  which  electrified  the  Harney 
household  and  made  something  of  a  sensation 
generally.  It  was  that  old  Elder  Potter  was  to 
take  a  part  in  the  contest.  It  was  stated  that 
he  would  make  an  address  in  Stephen  Baird's 
unused  warehouse,  and  would  also  speak  at 
meetings  in  Wollaston  and  elsewhere  in  the 
district.  And  the  cause  he  was  to  espouse  was 
the  defeat  of  Joel  Harney. 

The  news  spread  rapidly  through  the  coun 
tryside.  Everywhere  it  was  regarded  as  a  seri 
ous  and  significant  event.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  the  prophet  had  broken  his  silence 
since  the  stormy  days  of  the  great  Civil  War. 
Why  should  he  choose  this  time  to  come  forth 
from  his  retirement?  He  and  his  forefathers 
had  only  in  great  crises  uttered  their  strong 

216 


and  stirring  appeals.  It  was  instinctively  felt 
that  he  believed  he  now  had  a  weighty  message 
to  deliver,  and  the  fact  gave  a  new  and  deep 
interest  to  the  state  of  affairs. 

Mr.  Harney  and  his  lieutenants  were  quick 
to  discern  the  grave  effect  that  this  interven 
tion  might  have  upon  the  campaign.  The 
silent  old  man  had  always  had  a  mysterious 
hold  upon  the  imagination  of  the  community. 
Of  course,  comparatively  few  persons  at 
tributed  to  him  any  so-called  gift  of  prophecy, 
but  there  was  a  certain  austerity,  a  certain 
authority  in  him,  a  clarity  of  vision,  combined 
with  power,  which  invariably  impressed  all 
who  met  him.  His  advent  into  this  contest 
might  prove  a  formidable  peril. 

Mr.  Harney  proceeded  to  meet  it  with  all 
the  resources  in  his  power.  He  had  come  to  feel 
as  though  he  had  a  desperate  stake  in  this  cam 
paign.  Election  meant  to  him  a  kind  of  vindi 
cation,  for  which  his  deepest  soul  ardently 
longed.  Of  late  that  inner  finger  of  accusation 
had  pointed  more  and  more  incriminatingly. 
Thoughts,  reflections,  memories,  seemed  to 
have  grown  ungovernable.  Recollections  of 
incidents  which  he  had  put  aside,  of  occur 
rences  which  he  had  belittled  and  sought  to 
forget,  had  rushed  upon  him  in  an  insurrec- 


218  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

tionary  multitude.  And  their  effect  was  ac 
centuated  and  intensified  by  the  hostile  voices 
evoked  by  this  political  strife.  He  was  seeing 
himself  as  others  had  long  seen  him,  and  the 
sight  seared  him  like  white-hot  iron.  Others! 
Was  it  all  others,  or  only  a  noisy  few?  Suc 
cess  silences,  refutes,  wins  over.  In  this  con 
test  success  had  become  vital.  Apart  from  the 
opportunities  of  higher  political  advancement 
in  the  future,  which  it  would  open  to  him,  it 
stood  now  in  itself  as  a  definite,  concrete  self- 
rehabilitation,— a  restoring  of  the  man  to  the 
esteem  not  only  of  his  countrymen  but  of  him 
self. 

Aided  by  the  railroad  and  bank  influences, 
backed  by  powerful  money  interests  through 
out  the  state,  and  seconded  by  all  the  shrewd 
ness  and  energy  of  Thornton  and  other  local 
leaders,  he  redoubled  his  activities.  Money 
was  spent  freely,  speakers  were  imported  into 
the  county  from  city  centres,  the  local  news 
papers  were  spurred  to  increased  activity  in 
his  support,  and  campaign  literature  was 
lavishly  distributed.  Joel  Harney  was  making 
the  stiffest  fight  of  his  career,  and  he  felt  that 
its  issues  had  come  to  be  the  issues  of  life  and 
death. 

One  thing  only  at  times  disconcerted  him 


and  for  a  little  seemed  to  cripple  his  energy. 
This  was  his  intercourse  with  Thornton,  who 
had  of  late  adopted  a  tone  of  familiarity, 
almost  of  insolence  toward  him,  which  was  be 
coming  intolerable.  It  sickened  and  paralyzed 
him  to  feel  that  this  man,  truly  or  otherwise, 
thought  him  in  his  toils. 

But  at  this  juncture,  Mun  Wetherill,  who 
had  gone  home  to  Worcester,  unexpectedly  re 
turned.  He  sought  Mr.  Harney,  and  had  a 
long  conversation  with  him.  And  the  mer 
chant's  face  grew  lighter  as  the  talk  pro 
gressed. 

11  Three  words  with  the  fellow  will  do  the 
trick, ' '  said  Wetherill  confidently,  as  he  parted 
from  the  older  man.  "I  '11  take  the  train  in 
to  Wollaston  and  see  him  this  very  afternoon." 

He  did  so,  and  the  few  words  that  he  had  to 
say  to  Thornton  in  the  private  office  of  the  big 
store  blanched  that  individual's  cheek,  and 
made  him  sink  back,  suddenly  nerveless,  into 
his  chair. 

"I  Ve  traced  it  out  to  the  last  detail," 
Wetherill  finished,  in  cool,  level  tones.  "This 
eld  Worcester  photograph  of  you,  and  the  one 
you  gave  the  McNamaras  and  that  I  persuaded 
them  to  lend  me,  settled  the  business.  You 
slipped  out  of  Worcester  very  cleverly,  that 


220  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

time,  my  friend,  and  they  never  thought  of 
looking  for  you  as  near  as  Boston,  or  after 
ward  over  here.  Changing  your  name  was  a 
good  idea  too,  of  course." 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do!"  asked 
Thornton  in  a  husky  whisper. 

"Nothing,"  said  Wetherill  promptly.  "If 
I  open  my  mouth,  you  get  ten  years  in  prison. 
It  ;s  compounding  a  felony  if  I  don't,  I  sup 
pose.  But  you  '11  never  care  to  prove  it  on 
me."  He  laughed. 

"The  only  man  that  knows  of  all  this," 
he  pursued,  "is  Mr.  Harney.  Your  protection 
is  entirely  in  his  hands.  You*  understand ! ' ' 
His  tone  was  significant. 

Thornton  nodded  sullenly. 

"Then  that  's  all  right,"  said  Wetherill, 
rising. 

He  moved  to  the  door.  There  was  a  stealthy 
spring  behind  him,  and  he  wheeled  in  time  to 
avert  Thornton's  revengeful  blow  and  to  crowd 
him  back  into  his  chair  with  an  iron  grasp 
on  his  throat. 

"I  was  looking  for  that!"  exclaimed  Mun 
exultingly,  as  his  grip  tightened.  "I  knew 
your  methods  of  fighting,  from  the  way  you 
were  handling  Baird  that  night  when  I  pulled 
you  off."  He  released  the  other  with  a  scorn- 


"OUT  OF  THE  MOUTHS  OF  BABES"  221 

ful  fling.  "Bad  policy,  Thornton.  You  don't 
often  let  yourself  go  like  this.  I  would  n't 
do  it  again,  if  you  '11  take  my  advice." 

And  Wetherill  walked  out  of  the  office. 

Thus  ended  Albert  Thornton's  power  for  ill 
upon  the  fortunes  of  the  Harney  family.  And 
Joel  knew  that  this  one  danger  had  been  re 
moved  from  the  path.  Perhaps  the  danger 
had  not  been  great;  for  Thornton  had  no 
secrets  of  overt  wrong-doing  in  his  possession. 
The  most  that  he  knew,  or  that  there  was  to 
know,  was  of  trade  methods  and  political 
moves  which  might  be  called  unscrupulous  but 
which  evidenced  no  crime.  Joel  Harney  was 
not  a  man  to  stoop  to  the  latter.  Everything 
that  he  did  could  be  defended  on  sufficient  if 
casuistical  grounds,  and  he  always  so  defended 
it  to  himself.  That  it  might  not  be  so  defended 
openly  and  to  others  constituted  the  only  hold 
that  Thornton  had  had  upon  him. 

None  the  less,  the  silencing  of  this  potential 
enemy  in  the  camp  meant  much.  The  feeling 
of  crippledness,  of  paralysis,  vanished  utterly, 
and  he  went  on  with  the  contest  with  new 
energy. 

Matters  were  looking  very  hopeful.  There 
had  been  a  subtle  turn  in  the  tide  of  public 
opinion,  which  often  rises  and  subsides 


222  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

so  vagrantly.  Canvasses  by  the  newspapers 
and  by  his  managers  indicated  a  safe  majority 
for  Joel  Harney.  There  remained  the  element 
of  uncertainty  which  old  Mr.  Potter's  coming 
intervention  might  introduce  into  the  cam 
paign.  But  Mr.  Harney  now  feared  this  less 
than  before.  It  had  been  arranged  that  one  of 
Ms  own  most  telling  and  resourceful  speakers 
should  be  present  at  the  approaching  meeting, 
and  should  make  a  reply.  Other  speakers  were 
to  support  him  if  need  should  be.  There 
seemed  no  real  danger  that  the  old  prophet's 
coming  address  would  carry  away  his  listeners 
beyond  the  reach  of  counter  argument. 

This  address,  it  appeared,  was  not  to  be  de 
livered  in  the  warehouse,  after  all,  unless  the 
weather  should  be  rainy.  Elder  Potter  had 
decided  that  the  meeting  should  be  in  the 
open  air,  on  the  grounds  in  front  of  his  own 
house. 

The  days  slipped  by,  and  the  campaign 
neared  its  end.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
set  for  the  prophet's  evening  meeting,  Mr. 
Harney  came  home  early.  He  felt  a  certain 
nervous  tension,  and  could  not  hold  his  mind 
upon  matters  at  the  store.  This  was  to  be  a 
crucial  event,— one  almost  as  definite  and  de 
ciding,  he  felt,  as  the  day  of  election  itself. 


"OUT  OF  THE  MOUTHS  OF  BABES"  223 

What  were  to  be  the  words  that  the  prophet 
would  find  to  say? 

Mrs.  Harney  was  out,  visiting  a  sick  neigh 
bor.  Mun  Wetherill,  who  was  still  in  town, 
had  gone  off  with  Josie  for  another  after 
noon  ramble.  The  house  was  quiet.  Outside, 
the  day  was  mild,  with  a  breezy  yet  balmy  air. 
Mr.  Harney  sank  comfortably  into  the  deep, 
low  chair  in  his  private  study,  close  by  the 
open  window,  and  opened  a  new  book. 

There  were  boyish  voices  in  the  grounds  put- 
side.  Jay,  with  Timmie  Burroughs  and  Eddie 
McNamara  and  one  or  two  others  of  the  neigh 
borhood  boys,  was  playing  there.  Timmie 
occasionally  came  over  from  Easthaven,  where 
his  mother  and  he  were  now  living,  to  play 
with  his  former  companions.  They  were  all 
engaged  in  an  ingenious  game  which  Jay  had 
recently  invented  and  which  he  called  "kite- 
tag.  ' '  Each  of  the  boys  was  sending  up  a  kite, 
which  was  armed  on  the  front  with  light  spikes 
of  sharpened  wire.  If  one  succeeded  in  getting 
his  kite  close  to  and  behind  another's,  a  sharp 
pull  would  generally  result  in  the  impalement 
and  capture  of  the  latter,  which  then  became 
the  victor's  spoil. 

Obviously,  more  than  one  kite  apiece  was  re 
quired  for  such  a  destructive  game.  Each  boy 


224  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

had  several.  Jay's  were  large  and  powerful, 
for  there  was  no  limit  set  to  size  and  strength. 
One  or  two  of  the  other  boys  were  equipped 
with  fairly  good  kites,  though  none  so  power 
ful  as  Jay's.  Timmie  Burroughs  had  but  little 
spending-money,  and  had  been  able  to  invest 
only  a  few  precious  cents  in  the  needed  tissue- 
paper  and  cord  for  his  own  modest  array. 

Mr.  Harney,  unobserved  behind  the  window- 
boxes  on  the  low,  wide  sill,  found  the  boys' 
movements  more  interesting  than  his  book,  and 
lazily  putting  the  latter  aside,  watched  the 
game. 

It  was  soon  manifest  that  Jay  had  a  great 
advantage.  The  kites  circled  about,  lifted  by 
the  steady  breeze,  now  drifting  close  to  one 
another,  now  making  sudden  and  unexpected 
swoops  downward  or  sideways,  as  kites  will 
do.  The  boys  handled  them  skilfully,  each 
warily  holding  the  end  of  his  taut  line, 
manoeuvring  for  position,  and  now  and  then 
giving  his  cord  a  sharp  pull  or  running  with 
it  suddenly  toward  a  rival.  Jay's  widespread- 
ing  and  costly  kite  was  under  much  better  con 
trol  than  the  others.  Presently  it  swooped 
close  behind  Timmie 's  little  flier,  and  an  in 
stant  pull  from  Jay  captured  the  prey. 

"I  Ve  got  it !    Hooray,  I  've  got  it ! "  yelled 


"OUT  OF  THE  MOUTHS  OF  BABES"  225 

the  boy  excitedly,  as  he  pulled  the  two  rapidly 
to  earth,  hand  over  hand.  He  landed  them 
successfully,  and  running  forward,  drew  the 
prize  loose  from  the  other. 

'•Mine  is  n't  hurt  at  all,"  he  exulted. 
"Yours  is  a  goner,  though,  Timmie." 

The  fatherless  lad  looked  crestfallen,  but  he 
made  his  way  to  his  little  reserve  stock  of  kites, 
and  prepared  another. 

"Yours  is  too  big,  Jay,"  complained  one  of 
the  other  boys.  "  'T  is  n't  fair,  I  think.  Ours 
don't  have  any  show  at  all." 

"Oh,  yes,  they  do,"  Jay  responded  impa 
tiently.  ' '  Keep  out  of  my  way,  if  you  can 't  do 
anything  else.  The  sky  's  free.  Hurry  up, 
Timmie.  This  is  lots  of  fun." 

There  was  a  longer  contest,  this  time.  Jay's 
kite  was  nearly  nipped  by  one  of  his  other 
antagonists,  but  it  escaped,  and  in  the  end 
brought  down  its  opponent.  Then  it  gathered 
in  two  or  three  more,  one  after  the  other.  In 
time  there  was  quite  a  little  heap  of  torn  and 
captured  soarers  on  the  ground  in  a  tangled 
huddle  of  strings  and  tails,  and  Jay  was  merci 
lessly  pursuing  the  only  one  remaining  aloft, 
—  Timmie 's  last  and  most  prized. 

Mr.  Harney  had  been  watching  the  game  at 
first  languidly,  then  more  and  more  with 


226  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

strained  interest  and  a  growing  feeling  of 
deadly  pain.  While  he  watched,  his  mind  was  tu- 
multuously  flashing  picture  after  picture  upon 
its  inner  screen.  His  thoughts  rose  insurgent, 
flouting  his  hitherto  rigid  control,  and  at 
tacked  him  like  fierce  and  cruel  vultures.  He 
made  a  movement  in  his  chair,  as  if  to  rise  and 
shut  out  sight  and  hearing  of  the  game  before 
him;  then  sank  impotently  back  again.  He 
must  watch,  though  every  moment  stabbed 
him. 

Jay,  boyish,  active,  handsome,  intently  and 
relentlessly  absorbed,  darted  hither  and 
thither,  now  slackening,  now  reeling  in  his 
line,  his  whole  attention  centred,  like  that  of 
some  falconer  of  other  times,  upon  the  quarry 
in  the  heavens.  No  thought  of  mercy  crossed 
his  mind, — no  reflection  that  this  was  Tim- 
mie's  last  kite,  and  that  its  loss  meant  more  to 
his  poorer  companion  than  victory  could  mean 
to  himself.  Mr.  Harney,  sitting  there  as  in  a 
spell,  found  himself  wishing,  hoping,  almost 
fjraying,  that  his  son  would  haul  in  that 
destroying  falcon  and  leave  its  fleeing  victim 
to  return  in  safety  to  its  owner ;  but  something 
held  him  back  from  his  impulse  to  call  out. 
He  must  watch  the  issue  in  silence. 

Timmie  Burroughs  had  saved  his  best  kite 


"OUT  OF  THE  MOUTHS  OF  BABES"  227 

for  the  last,  and  the  fight  was  obstinate.  Once, 
twice,  he  worked  the  kite  adroitly  behind 
Jay's,  and  nearly  impaled  it.  The  larger  one 
tried  in  vain  to  catch  the  smaller.  The  two 
boys  darted  here  and  there,  while  the  others 
looked  anxiously  on,  their  sympathies  all  with 
Timmie. 

Mr.  Harney  had  risen,  and  was  standing 
close  by  the  window  now.  None  of  the  boys 
noticed  him,  all  eyes  being  fixed  on  the  kites. 

Timmie  made  a  dexterous  dash  toward  Jay, 
seeking  to  pass  behind  him.  On  the  instant, 
Jay  threw  back  a  rigid  foot,  and  Timmie, 
stumbling,  fell  headlong,  still  clutching  the 
cord. 

"I  've  got  you  now!"  shouted  Jay.  He  let 
his  own  cord  suddenly  out,  then  pulled  it 
sharply,  and  his  big  destroyer  closed  down  and 
quickly  impaled  the  smaller  kite. 

''No  fair!"  shrilled  Timmie,  struggling  to 
his  feet.  '  *  Let  that  go,  do  you  hear  f ' '  There 
was  a  red  bruise  on  his  forehead,  and  he 
rubbed  it  with  one  hand,  while  he  vainly  tried 
to  release  his  captured  kite  by  jerking  the 
string  with  the  other. 

"That  ain't  fair,  Jay!"  chimed  in  the  other 
lads  in  angry  protest.  "What  did  you  trip 
him  up  for?" 


228  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"  'Cause  I  was  bound  to  get  that  kite,"  re 
turned  Jay  triumphantly.  He  hauled  steadily 
on  the  line.  "I  got  it  too." 

"Nobody  else  'd  do  such  a  thing,"  vocifer 
ated  Timmie,  half  crying,  as  his  captured  kite 
was  drawn  in. 

"Yes,  they  would,  too!"  declared  Jay. 
' '  That  's  like  business.  It  's  the  way  pa  does. 
He  tripped  your  pa  up  once,— I  heard  some 
body  say  so.  And  you  das  n't  say  he  ain't 
fair!" 

1 '  Oh,  my  God ! ' '  burst  from  Joel  Harney,  as 
he  stepped  suddenly  back  from  the  window. 
His  face  was  agonized,  and  he  caught  his  breath 
sharply.  He  stood  for  an  instant,  staring  un 
seeing  into  the  interior  of  the  room.  Then  he 
sank  into  a  chair  by  the  table,  and  dropped  his 
head  in  his  hands. 

AN  hour  later,  Mr.  Harney  wearily  rose.  His 
face  looked  old  and  drawn.  He  seemed  to  have 
lived  a  year  within  the  hour.  He  felt  around 
rather  blindly  for  his  hat,  and  leaving  the 
house,  he  walked,  at  first  slowly,  then  more  and 
more  rapidly,  far  out  along  the  country  roads. 


XVIII 

THE  PROPHET  SPEAKS 

THAT  evening,  the  road  that  led  along  the 
riverside  from  the  village  to  the  Potters ' 
low  stone  house  at  the  Point,  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  was  filled  with  an  unwonted  tide 
of  travel.  All  the  village  was  on  the  way  to 
the  old  prophet's  grounds.  Numbers  of  people 
were  driving  in  from  the  countryside.  Others 
had  come  over  from  Wollaston  on  the  train, 
crowding  the  one  passenger-car  to  its  doors; 
and  even  more  distant  parts  of  the  county 
were  represented,  for  the  repute  of  Elder 
Potter  was  wide,  and  the  strongest  interest  was 
felt  in  what  the  fearless  and  fervid  old  man 
might  have  to  say. 

The  evening  was  balmy,  as  the  day  had  been. 
The  breeze  had  gone  down  with  the  sun,  and 
the  still  night  was  illumined  by  a  full  moon, 
which  whitened  river  and  road  and  field,  and 
threw  into  sharp  relief  the  straggling  files  of 

229 


230  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

conveyances  and  pedestrians  converging  to 
ward  the  Point. 

Mr.  Potter  had  disdained  artificial  prepara 
tions  of  any  sort.  There  was  no  platform, 
there  were  no  seats,  no  flaring  torches.  One 
would  have  said,  on  arriving  at  the  spot,  that 
there  had  been  some  mistake  in  the  date  set. 
Except  for  two  lighted  lanterns  placed  on  the 
rail  of  the  little  upper  balcony  over  the  front 
door,  everything  was  precisely  as  usual.  The 
front  door  itself  was  closed.  No  one  was  visi 
ble  within  the  house.  A  light  could  be  seen  in 
the  kitchen  through  the  drawn  shades.  It 
seemed  a  strange  prelude  to  a  public  meeting. 

But  this  was  known  to  be  the  old  man's  way. 
Even  so  had  he  been  wont  to  receive  the  crowds 
who  had  come  in  response  to  his  calls,  fifteen 
or  more  years  before,  when  the  vital  issues  of 
slavery  and  disunion  were  in  the  heart  and 
mind  of  everyone.  Even  so,  tradition  averred, 
had  his  forefathers  addressed  the  people  at 
other  great  epochs,  — simply,  straightfor 
wardly,  without  ceremonial.  Many  such 
gatherings  as  this  had  stood  in  the  green  en 
closure  before  the  little  stone  house,  and  had 
overflowed  beyond  the  gate  and  front  fence  to 
the  road  behind,  in  days  and  generations  gone 
by;  audiences  orderly  and  intent,  impressed 


THE  PROPHET  SPEAKS  231 

with  that  indefinable  respect  and  almost  awe 
which  this  strange  line  of  seers  had  always 
awakened  in  the  community. 

The  gathering  throng  little  by  little  filled  up 
the  space  before  the  house.  There  was  no 
noise.  Talking  was  carried  on  in  an  under 
tone.  The  restless  demonstrations  that  gen 
erally  precede  the  opening  of  a  political 
meeting  were  wholly  lacking.  Everyone  felt 
a  certain  solemnity  in  the  occasion,  and  moved 
and  spoke  softly.  It  was  in  fact  impossible 
for  one  not  to  feel  a  silencing  effect.  The  un 
usual  event,  the  out-door  setting,  the  stillness 
of  the  evening,  the  silvery  moonlight  flooding 
the  groups  of  people,  the  quiet,  sombre  old 
stone  house  in  front  of  them,— all  combined  to 
hush  careless  talk  and  arouse  a  feeling  of  keen 
est  expectancy. 

There  were  women  and  children  as  well  as 
men  in  the  little  groups  edging  their  way 
about,  exchanging  greetings,  chatting  restrain- 
edly,  but  now  and  again  watchfully  glancing 
toward  the  empty  porch  above  the  front  door 
of  the  house.  And  while  they  all  waited,  the 
distant  bell  of  the  church  clock  in  the  village 
counted  out  eight  measured  strokes. 

The  low  hum  of  voices  suddenly  ceased,  as 
the  hall  door  giving  on  the  upper  porch  was 


232  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

seen  to  open,  and  the  tall,  white-bearded  form 
of  Elder  Potter  appeared.  He  raised  his  hand 
for  a  moment  as  if  in  ascription.  When  his 
voice  broke  the  silence,  its  grave,  sonorous 
tones  carried  without  effort  to  the  farthest 
fringe  of  listeners. 

"Neighbors  and  friends,  men  of  the  Connec 
ticut  Valley,"  he  said,  "we  are  a  community 
of  peace,— a  nation  of  peace.  It  was  for  peace 
in  freedom  that  our  fathers  came  to  these 
shores,  knowing  that  it  was  a  goodly  thing,— 
a  goodly,  yes,  and  a  godly.  They  sought  little 
save  the  privilege  of  living  in  righteous  peace 
with  one  another  and  with  all  men.  So  their 
descendants  have  multiplied,  and  the  tiny  set 
tlements  along  the  ocean's  edge  have  grown 
into  a  great  republic. 

"Yet  when  the  call  has  come  to  righteous 
war,  the  response  has  been  instant.  Genera 
tion  after  generation  has  heard  and  met  that 
call.  We  of  this  generation  have  heard  and 
met  it.  The  anguish  of  our  last  and  most 
terrible  strife  can  never  pass  from  our  memo 
ries,  though  it  is  becoming  mercifully  dimmed 
by  the  moving  years.  It  was  a  strife  that  had 
to  be.  We  fought  not  for  the  sake  of  the  fight 
but  for  the  sake  of  the  right.  We  fought 
solemnly,  as  under  a  mandate  from  on  High. 


THE  PROPHET  SPEAKS  233 

There  was  a  joy  of  battle,— who  did  not  feel 
it?— but  our  foremost  thought  was  to  finish 
the  task,  finish  it  at  whatever  fearful  cost  of 
life  and  strength,  and  to  return  once  more 
to  the  ways  of  peace.  And  when  it  was  fin 
ished,  many  a  year  and  century,  we  hoped, 
would  roll  by  before  another  war  should  arise. 

"But  there  are  wars  not  only  against  ene 
mies  far  and  enemies  near  but  against  enemies 
in  the  midst.  One  may  be  as  sacred  a  crusade 
as  the  other.  And  when  the  call  comes,  shall 
we  not  again  be  instant  in  response? 

"I  say  to  you  that  the  call  has  come.  There 
are  enemies  in  the  midst.  They  may  well 
grow  to  be  as  deadly  to  the  life  of  this  republic 
as  those  men  who  would  have  disunited  it, 
seeking  to  make  it  half  slave,  half  free. 

"Enemies?  Who  are  they?  They  are  those 
who  are  seeking  to  corrupt  us  on  our  weakest 
side,  our  love  of  success,  especially  money  suc 
cess.  The  Puritan  was  no  fool.  He  was  hard- 
headed  and  a  good  bargainer.  These  qualities 
are  in  the  nation's  blood.  It  is  an  excellent 
thing.  The  Puritan's  was  good  bargaining, 
but  it  was  just.  So,  in  the  main,  have  been 
the  intense  business  activities  of  his  descend 
ants. 

"Some  of  you  standing  here  before  me  on 


234  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

this  still  autumn  night  can  go  back  in  memory 
forty,  fifty,  sixty  years.  You  have  known  the 
life  of  this  community,  and  it  has  been  the  life 
of  all  like  communities  in  this  nation.  You 
have  known  its  peaceful,  friendly  rivalries, 
its  easy  spirit  of  trade,  its  desire  to  live  and 
let  live,  not  to  maim  and  kill.  We  have  been 
herbivorous,  not  carnivorous.  I  am  not  say 
ing  to  you  that  all  have  been  good  men;  we 
have  had  many  bad  men  among  us.  But  we 
have  never  admired  nor  followed  them,  and  so 
they  have  never  been  a  source  of  danger  to  us. 

"You  older  men  recall  the  beginnings  of  a 
certain  red  store  in  this  village  of  ours.  You 
remember  the  upright  and  beloved  owner.  I 
held  him  as  my  best  friend;  no  kindlier  char 
acter  ever  lived  among  us.  Each  of  you  who 
knew  him  can  recollect  some  good  act  that  he 
did  to  you,  some  friendly  word  that  he  said. 
Can  any  recollect  a  bad  act,  a  word  un 
friendly?  He  lived  his  life  and  prospered, 
and  all  who  knew  him  were  the  better  for  his 
prosperity. 

"I  said  that  the  Puritan  was  hard-headed. 
Beware  when  he  becomes  hard-hearted!  I 
said  that  his  bargaining  was  just.  Beware 
when  it  grows  unjust!  For  his  traits,  good 
and  bad,  are  in  our  own  blood. 


THE  PROPHET  SPEAKS  235 

"That  red  store,— who  owns  it  now?  My 
friends,  I  wish  I  need  not  be  personal.  I  have 
no  individual  ill  will  against  the  owner.  He 
has  lived  among  us  as  boy  and  man.  He  is  a 
person  true  to  a  promise,  constant  in  religious 
observances,  loving  in  his  family  life.  Yet  I 
say  to  you  that  it  is  he  and  such  as  he  from 
whom  this  republic  has  most  to  fear. 

"The  father's  life  injured  no  man;  can  we 
say  it  of  the  son?  These  recent  years  have 
shown  you  a  business  method  new  to  this 
place,  regardless,  relentless,  remorseless.  Not 
dishonest,  you  say?  It  is  a  mistake  to  meas 
ure  conduct  solely  by  the  standard  of  honesty. 
There  is  a  vice  greater  and  blacker  than  dis 
honesty,  and  that  is  cruelty. 

"I  know  this  man,  the  son  of  my  old  friend, 
well  enough  to  feel  assured  that  if  he  realized 
a  tithe  of  the  evil  he  has  wrought,  he  would 
repent  in  dust  and  ashes.  He  does  not  real 
ize  it.  Only  a  revelation,  it  may  be,  could 
make  him  realize  it.  Through  some  strange 
deafness  he  fails  to  hear  voices  that  you  and 
I  plainly  hear,— the  accusing  voices  of  those 
who  have  suffered  by  his  acts;  voices  of  the 
deceived,  of  the  crushed,  even  of  the  dead.  It 
is  not  my  purpose  to  arraign  him  here.  My 
appeal  is  not  to  him ;  it  is  to  you.  For  oh,  my 


236  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

friends,  the  danger  is  not  in  the  wrongs  he  has 
done;  it  is  in  your  seeing  only  the  success, 
and  blinding  yourselves  to  the  sin.  It  is  in 
the  unconfessed  willingness  of  some,  yes, 
many  of  you,  to  emulate  him,— to  use  if  neces 
sary  similar  methods,  so  you  may  achieve 
similar  success.  There  is  the  poison.  There  is 
the  danger  we  have  to  fear  for  this  republic. 
Elsewhere  in  the  land  similar  men  have  risen 
up  and  are  at  work.  It  is  a  tendency  of  the 
time.  They  shut  their  eyes  to  cruelty,  so  it  be 
not  dishonesty.  And— hear  me!— their  suc 
cessors  will  shut  their  eyes  to  dishonesty  as 
well.  The  poison  spreads. 

"As  yet  it  is  but  a  little  thing.  It  has  not 
got  deep  hold  upon  our  national  life.  We  have 
time  to  check  this  tendency,  to  root  out  the  evil 
from  our  midst.  But  each  decade  that  passes 
will  make  it  harder.  God  forbid  that  it  ever 
become  impossible ! ' ' 

The  old  prophet's  voice  had  risen.  It 
thrilled  with  fervor,  and  his  words  fell  ring- 
ingly  upon  every  ear,  in  that  silent  assemblage 
in  the  moonlight. 

"As  for  our  community,  it  is  at  the  parting 
of  the  ways.  The  man  of  whom  I  have  been 
speaking  has  been  nominated  for  public  office, 
as  our  Senator  in  council.  We  have  been  called 


THE  PROPHET  SPEAKS  237 

upon  to  ratify  or  disavow  the  choice.  It  is 
our  first  opportunity  to  render  open  judg 
ment.  The  issue  will  tell  how  we  ourselves 
stand.  Do  we  condone  or  condemn?  Do  we 
admire  the  prosperous  even  though  they  be 
the  unscrupulous?  This  little  county  of  ours 
has  never  faced  a  graver  issue,  nor  one  that 
means  more  to  the  inner  life  and  soul  of  its 
people. 

"I  see  perils  ahead  for  this  nation.  The 
lust  for  power  and  wealth,  if  unchecked,  may 
overpass  all  bounds.  The  time  may  come 
when  it  will  no  longer  work  within  the  forms 
of  law,  as  it  has  hitherto  been  content  to  do. 
It  may  dare  to  defy  the  law.  I  picture  increas 
ing  wealth  working  increasing  wrong,— rob 
bing  and  at  the  same  time  corrupting.  Keep 
tender  the  national  conscience,  that  this  thing 
come  not  to  pass! 

"The  man  of  whom  I  have  spoken  typifies 
for  our  community  those  incipient  forces  of 
evil.  Look  to  the  matter,  men  of  the  county. 
Shall  you  secretly  admire  him?  Shall  you 
openly  endorse  him,  uplift  him,  emulate  him? 
Or  shall  you  stamp  on  his  acts,  and  take  your 
stand  for  the  business  equity  and  kindliness 
for  which  that  little  red  store  once  stood?" 

There   was   a   strained   hush   over   all   the 


238  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

throng.  No  one  moved,  in  the  moment's 
silence  that  followed.  All  seemed  to  be  wait 
ing  for  the  prophet  to  say  more ;  but  none  were 
prepared  for  his  next  words.  As  he  stood 
there  on  the  upper  porch,  his  burning  black 
eyes  were  fixed  on  one  person  in  the  crowd  be 
fore  him. 

"Joel  Harney,"  he  said,  "no  word  that  I 
had  in  mind  to  utter  has  been  changed  because 
you  have  stood  before  me  tonight.  Do  you 
wish  to  make  answer  before  the  people!" 

An  even  voice  spoke  in  reply. 

"I  do." 

Few  had  noticed  Mr.  Harney  in  the  crowd. 
He  had  come  up  quietly,  after  the  old  man  had 
begun  speaking,  and  the  listeners  were  too 
intent  to  pay  attention  to  newcomers.  The 
unexpected  sound  of  his  voice  came  as  a  sen 
sation. 

Those  in  front  of  him  instinctively  gave 
place.  Joel  Harney  made  his  way  to  .the  house 
door,  and  opening  it,  passed  up  the  stairs  and 
appeared  upon  the  upper  balcony. 

He  gave  no  formal  greeting  to  Elder  Potter, 
nor  did  the  latter  give  further  sign  of  recogni 
tion.  The  stress  was  too  great,  the  moment 
too  intense,  for  outward  formalities.  The 
older  man  moved  slightly  to  one  side,  and  stood 


THE  PROPHET  SPEAKS  239 

regarding  the  other,  who  advanced  straight 
to  the  front  rail.  Mr.  Harney's  face  was 
haggard,  but  when  he  spoke  his  voice  was  with 
out  tremor. 

' '  An  hour  ago, ' '  he  said,  in  clear,  deliberate 
tones,  "on  my  way  here,  I  sent  a  telegram  to 
the  Chairman  of  the  District  Committee,  with 
drawing  my  name  as  a  candidate  for  State 
Senator." 

A  murmur  of  astonishment  ran  through  the 
assemblage.  Mr.  Harney's  sudden  and  un 
locked  for  announcement  seemed  scarcely 
credible.  Men  looked  at  one  another  unbeliev 
ingly.  "What  was  it  he  said?"  they  asked, 
staring  each  at  his  neighbor. 

Mr.  Harney  turned  quietly  to  Elder  Potter. 

"Will  you  tell  them  to  disperse  now?"  he 
said.  "I  have  much  on  my  mind  that  I  want 
to  talk  of  with  you  alone." 

As  the  wondering  people  slowly  moved  away 
in  little  knots  and  groups,  talking  and  ques 
tioning,  Joel  again  turned  to  the  old  man  at 
his  side. 

"I  have  listened  tonight  to  every  word  you 
have  uttered, ' '  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  * '  Every 
word  is  true." 

For  an  instant  the  prophet  did  not  reply. 
Then  his  eyes  seemed  to  soften,  as  they  rested 


240  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

on  the  other's  face.    He  put  his  hand  on  Joel 
Harney's  shoulder. 

"God  bless  your  work  of  reparation,  my 
son,"  he  said  simply. 


XIX 

TWO  IN   COUNCIL 

THE  river  road  was  silent  and  deserted 
when  Mr.  Harney,  an  hour  later,  walked 
rapidly  home.  The  crowd  returning  from  the 
meeting  had  disappeared,  and  the  moon  shone 
only  on  their  innumerable  footprints  in  the 
sandy  road. 

He  found  his  wife  awaiting  him  rather 
anxiously.  Josie  and  Jay  and  the  servants 
had  gone  to  bed. 

"I  was  getting  quite  worried,  Joel,"  Ellen 
said,  coming  to  meet  him  as  she  heard  his  step 
in  the  hall.  "I  hope  you  had  some  supper. 
You  look  tired  out." 

"I  have  n't  had  a  bite,"  he  admitted,  with 
a  little  laugh. 

" You  have  n 't  1  Oh,  Joel!  Come  right  into 
the  dining-room,  and  I  '11  get  you  something 
this  minute." 

He  followed  her  in  through  the  wide  hall, 

241 


242  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

and  drew  up  a  chair  to  the  walnut  dining-table. 
Mrs.  Harney  went  into  the  pantry,  and  re 
turned  presently  with  an  appetizing  little 
supper,  which  she  had  had  set  aside  for 
her  husband's  possible  requirements. 

"Is  n't  this  nice,  Joel?"  she  said  wistfully, 
as  she  drew  up  a  chair  beside  him  and  poured 
his  cup  of  tea.  "How  we  used  to  love  to  have 
supper  together  this  way,  once  in  a  while,  in 
the  old  house,  when  the  children  were  young, 
—no  servants  to  wait  on  us,  just  our  two  selves 
alone.  It  's  almost  like  those  dear  days 
again. ' ' 

"We  had  a  servant  then,  my  dear,"  he  re 
minded  her,  attacking  the  thinly  sliced  cold 
meat  with  a  relish. 

"We  had  a  hired  help,"  his  wife  returned, 
laughing.  "She  would  n't  have  let  us  call 
her  a  servant.  Good  old  Agatha!  You  took 
away  her  home  when  you  bought  that  Burn- 
ham  farm,  Joel. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  she  minded,  Ellen?"  he 
asked,  with  a 'troubled  note  in  his  voice. 

1  i  I  think  she  's  grieved  over  it  to  this  day. ' ' 

1 '  Why,  I  thought  her  folks  were  well  enough 
satisfied.  Of  course  they  could  have  sold  for 
more,  if  it  had  been  known  that  the  railroad 
was  going  along  the  place.  I  heard  that  they 


TWO  IN  COUNCIL  243 

felt  rather  bitter  about  that  part  afterwards. 
But  my  agent  paid  them  a  fair  price,  as  far  as 
the  farm  itself  was  concerned." 

"I  never  heard  Agatha  say  anything  about 
that,"  Mrs.  Harney  said,  "Of  course  what 
ever  money  was  paid  went  to  her  brother  and 
his  wife,  as  they  owned  the  farm." 

"Ellen,"  said  her  husband  abruptly,  "how 
would  you  like  to  go  back  to  our  old  house,  and 
have  Agatha  again,  and  live  just  as  we  used 
to  do?" 

* '  Oh,  Joel ! ' '  she  said,  startled  at  the  sudden 
question;  "I  'd  love  it,— I  'd  love  it!  I  often 
think  I  'd  give  anything  if  we  could  go  back 
five  years  and  be  there." 

"We  can't  go  back  five  years,"  he  said 
soberly.  "But  we  '11  go  back  to  the  old  house, 
if  you  would  like  to  do  it." 

Mrs.  Harney  gasped  a  little. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded. 
"Has  anything  happened,  Joel?" 

"Yes,  Ellen,  something  has  happened,"  he 
gravely  responded.  "Nothing  bad,  I  think; 
something  good,  I  hope.  I  have  n't  lost  any 
money.  But  perhaps  I  've  parted  with  some 
wrong-headed  ideas." 

"Tell  me,  Joel,"  she  begged. 

Then  he  told  her. 


244  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

He  told  her  of  the  afternoon,  of  the  boys  at 
play,  of  the  sudden,  blinding  revelation  that 
had  come  to  him ;  of  his  long,  late-afternoon 
pacing  of  the  country  roads,  and  of  the 
thoughts  that  had  overwhelmed  him  and  had 
changed,  he  believed  for  all  time,  his  outlook 
on  life;  of  the  meeting  on  the  prophet's 
grounds  and  what  had  been  said  there ;  and  of 
the  hour's  converse,  fraught  with  feeling  and 
purpose,  which  the  two  men  had  afterward 
held  together. 

The  little  supper  remained  unfinished  while 
Joel  Harney  talked  in  low  tones  and  his  wife 
listened.  Slowly,  at  first  with  doubt  and  then 
with  growing  and  joyful  certainty,  she  real 
ized  the  amazing  change  that  had  been 
wrought  in  him. 

"They  were  true,  all  true,— the  old  man's 
words,"  he  declared,  pushing  back  his  chair. 
A  look  of  poignant  pain  was  on  his  face. 

Mrs.  Harney  reached  out  and  took  his  hand, 
clasping  it  lovingly. 

"It  was  n't  old  Elder  Potter  alone  whose 
voice  I  seemed  to  hear,  Ellen,"  he  broke  out. 
"It  was  the  voice  of  every  one  of  those  people 
around.  It  was  the  voice  of  all  humankind." 

"Yet  it  was  n't  those  voices  that  moved  you, 
Joel,"  she  said  softly. 


TWO  IN  COUNCIL  245 

"No,  Ellen.  It  was  our  boy.  What  he  said 
came  like  the  voice  of  conscience  itself." 

Mrs.  Harney  could  not  speak.  Her  eyes 
were  dim  with  the  tears  that  welled  up,  but 
her  face  was  transfigured  with  gladness. 

"I  've  got  a  whole  lot  of  nice  little  plans, 
Ellen,"  Mr.  Harney  said  after  a  pause.  "I 
want  to  see  what  you  think  of  them." 

"I  'm  sure  I  shall  approve,  Joel.  But 
you  must  go  on  with  your  supper  while  you 
talk.  Wait  till  I  bring  you  in  some  hot 
tea." 

"Seems  to  me  these  soda  biscuits  are  re 
markably  good,"  remarked  Mr.  Harney,  as 
his  wife  returned  from  the  kitchen. 

"I  made  them  myself,"  she  confessed, 
smiling.  "I  went  into  the  kitchen  this  after 
noon,  after  I  came  in,  and  mixed  up  a  batch  for 
supper. ' ' 

"What  did  the  cook  say?" 

"Oh,  she  's  got  used  to  some  of  my  ways 
now.  I  just  won't  be  kept  out  of  my  own 
kitchen  when  I  want  to  come  in. ' ' 

"Good  for  you,  Ellen!"  said  her  husband, 
with  a  cheery  laugh,— a  cheerier  laugh  than 
she  had  heard  him  give  for  many  a  month. 
"That  's  the  right  Harney  spunk.  When  we 
move  back  into  the  old  house,  you  and  Agatha 


246  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

shall  make  soda  biscuits  every  night  if  you 
like." 

''Do  you  truly  mean  that  you  'd  like  to  go 
back,  Joel?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  I  almost  think  I  do,  Ellen,"  he  said 
with  seriousness.  "  I  'd  like  to  get  home  again, 
I  find.  This  is  n't  really  home,  somehow." 

"It  never  has  been  so  to  me,"  she  said  with 
a  sigh. 

"Nor  to  me,  really.  I  thought  it  would  be 
in  time.  But  we  did  n't  come  in  under  the 
right  conditions  for  that.  I  see  it  now." 

She  was  silent. 

' '  I  almost  wish  things  could  be  as  they  were 
in  father's  day,"  he  went  on.  "Then  we  had 
enough,  as  you  once  said;  and  what  we  had, 
we  took  satisfaction  in.  He  had  the  right 
philosophy  of  life,  after  all." 

There  was  another  silence. 

"The  one  thing  I  saw,  this  afternoon,  after 
Jay  had  said  those  words,  was  that  I  had 
to  set  our  boy  right.  That  has  to  be  done  at 
any  cost.  He  means  everything  to  me,  of 
course. ' ' 

"He  's  a  good  boy  at  heart,"  Mrs.  Harney 
said,— "sound  and  warm  and  true." 

"Yes,  I  know  that  well.  I  suppose  I  counted 
too  much  on  it.  I  never  thought  of  his  taking 


TWO  IN  COUNCIL  247 

on  wrong  ideas.  The  fact  is,  I  Ve  never  taken 
time  to  get  really  intimate  with  him.  That  's 
one  thing  I  mean  to  do.  After  all,  what  are 
our  lives  worth  except  for  our  children, 
Ellen?" 

"He  admires  you  above  everyone  in  the 
world,  Joel." 

"Well,  then,  to  set  him  right,  I  Ve  got  to 
set  myself  right.  That  's  what  I  began  to  see, 
little  by  little,  while  I  was  out  tramping  the 
roads  this  afternoon." 

Mrs.  Harney  rose  to  clear  away  the  supper- 
things,  moving  quietly  about  the  room  while 
he  went  on  talking. 

"He  said  I  tripped  George  up.  Did  I, 
Ellen?" 

' '  I  think  you  hurt  his  life,  Joel. ' ' 

"So  Elder  Potter  told  me  tonight,  when  I 
asked  him.  So  other  people  seem  to  think. 
I  can't  fully  see  why  I  should  be  responsible. 
Business  is  always  business.  But  perhaps  I  'm 
wrong.  And  there  's  no  way  of  making  it 
right  with  him  now.  Poor  George !  We  used 
to  be  close  friends  once." 

He  sat  silently  thinking. 

"Of  course,  Susan  would  n't  touch  a  cent 
for  herself.  But  I  think  she  '11  let  me  help 
Timmie.  I  'd  like  to  pay  for  the  best  education 


248  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

and  training  he  can  get,  and  then  give  him  a 
good  start  in  life." 

"That  would  be  fine,  Joel!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Harney.  "And— yes,  I  think  Susan  would 
consent  to  a  thing  like  that." 

"Then  there  's  Mrs.  Cass,"  continued  her 
husband  thoughtfully.  "Elder  Potter  de 
clared  I  had  a  hand  in  hurting  old  Martin's 
life  too.  Did  I?" 

"How  can  I  say,  Joel?  You  troubled  him 
very  much." 

"Well,  I  think  it  's  pushing  responsibility 
pretty  far.  But  Mrs.  Cass  is  penniless,  I  hear. 
Martin  carried  a  good  life-insurance  policy, 
but  the  company  refused  to  pay,  on  account  of 
his  suicide.  I  '11  see  that  she  gets  paid.  I  '11 
get  my  lawyer  to  make  her  suppose  the  com 
pany  has  paid  it  after  all." 

Mrs.  Harney  laughed  out  with  pleasure. 

"Well,  you  have  been  thinking,  Joel." 

"Then  Elder  Potter  brought  up  another 
matter.  Do  you  know,  it  's  astonishing,  the 
things  that  old  man  knows  about  everything. 
Nothing  seems  to  escape  him.  This  time,  it 
was. Captain  Prout." 

"Captain  Prout!" 

' '  Yes.  You  know  we  bought  his  little  line  of 
boats, — the  railroad  branch  did;  and  we  were 


TWO  IN  COUNCIL  249 

able  to  force  the  purchase  at  about  half  price. 
It  was  my  idea,  I  suppose.  Mind  you,  I  don't 
say  that  I  see  any  reason  why  we  ought  n't  to 
have  bought  to  the  best  advantage.  He  felt 
pretty  badly  about  it,  it  seems;  how  badly,  I 
did  n't  know,  till  old  Potter  told  me.  Of 
course  we  kept  him  on  in  charge;  and  I  think 
I  '11  see  that  his  salary  gets  a  jump.  I  'm 
willing  to  pay  the  difference  myself,  and  he  '11 
never  suspect." 

Mrs.  Harney  laughed  again.  She  had  fin 
ished  her  work,  and  now  returned  to  her  chair 
by  his  side. 

"Why,  Joel,  I  believe  yon  're  really  enjoy 
ing  all  this  planning, ' '  she  said. 

"Well,  my  dear,  if  you  make  up  your  mind 
to  do  a  thing,  there  's  no  sense  in  doing  it 
half-heartedly.  Now  there  's  Ezra  McNamara 
and  his  wife.  She  came  and  told  me,  not  long 
ago,  how  much  she  'd  lost  in  some  of  those 
stock  fluctuations.  She  as  good  as  accused  me 
of  stealing  it. ' ' 

"Joel!" 

' '  Yes,  she  did  n 't  mince  words. ' '  He  laughed 
grimly.  "I  won't  deny  they  hurt,  though  she 
never  suspected  it.  I  offered  her  a  check  in 
full,  but  she  would  n't  hear  of  such  a  thing. 
Shall  I  try  again?" 


250  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

Mrs.  Harney  considered. 

"The  money  was  left  her  by  her  Uncle 
Wells,"  she  said.  "Could  n't  he  happen  to 
leave  her  some  more ! ' ' 

"He  's  dead!" 

"That  -need  n't  make  any  difference.  A 
lawyer  can  easily  fix  it.  Make  her  think  they 
Ve  discovered  a  codicil  to  the  will." 

"Why,  Ellen!"  remonstrated  Mr.  Harney, 
in  pretended  reproof.  "I  'm  surprised  at  such 
double  dealing." 

"It  's  perfectly  innocent,  and  she  '11  never 
take  a  cent  outright,"  Ellen  declared. 

"Well,  if  you  say  it  's  innocent,  I  know  it 
is.  But,  Ellen,  that  's  only  one  case.  There 
are  no  end  of  people  who  have  lost  money  in 
those  railway  stock  matters.  Mr.  Potter 
actually  says  that  I  and  certain  of  the  other 
directors  ought  to  make  good  every  cent  if  we 
could." 

"Was  it  your  fault  that  they  lost?" 

He  squared  his  shoulders  defensively. 

"I  don't  see  that  it  was  anybody's  fault 
except  their  own,"  he  answered. 

' '  Did  you  really  put  the  prices  up  and  down, 
as  people  said!" 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"We  were  able  to  move  them  about,  yes," 
he  admitted.  "But  what  of  that  I" 


TWO  IN  COUNCIL  251 

1 ' What  of  it,  yourself,  Joel?" 

He  paused  again. 

"I  can't  say  I  see  the  wrong.  It  's  done 
every  year  and  every  day,  in  State  Street  and 
Wall  Street." 

"But  you  knew  in  advance  where  you  could 
put  the  price?" 

"Well,  yes." 

"Is  n't  that  like— like  what  they  call  loaded 
dice?" 

"Oh,  come,  Ellen!"  he  remonstrated,  stung 
by  the  question. 

"Is  n't  it,  Joel?" 

"Well,  that  's  just  the  way  Elder  Potter  put 
it  to  me  tonight.  Oh,  he  did  n't  mince  words, 
any  more  than  Mrs.  McNamara  did!  I  've 
heard  a  good  many  things  to  interest  me,  in 
one  way  or  another,  since  four  o'clock  this 
afternoon.  I  'm  not  by  any  means  ready  to 
admit  'em  all.  Maybe  I  '11  come  to,  in  time. 
But  if  there  's  any  question  at  all  of  wrong  in 
this  stock  matter,  why,  I  'm  willing  to  try 
to  make  it  right." 

"You  can't,  Joel.  How  can  you  adjust  a 
hundred  little  wrongs,  that  you  could  n  't  trace, 
and  that  would  n't  let  themselves  be  adjusted 
if  you  tried?" 

"I  daresay  that  's  true.  I  can't  bring 
George  Burroughs  back  either.  Don't  think 


252  PEOPHET'S  LANDING 

that  I  don't  realize  it  all.  There  's  no  such 
thing  as  really  making  amends  in  life,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it."  He  sighed.  "Well, 
we  '11  do  as  much  of  it  as  we  can.  Wherever 
I  hear  of  any  harm  I  've  done  anyone,  inten 
tionally  or  not,  I  '11  undo  it  as  far  as  I  can. 
I  Ve  changed  some  of  my  ideas.  I  had  to, 
you  see,  if  I  wanted  Jay  to  change  his." 

He  got  up  and  began  to  pace  back  and  forth. 

"We  can't  go  back  to  father's  days.  But 
perhaps  we  can  go  back  to  some  of  his  ways. 
I  'm  going  to  try  to  at  the  store.  I  don't  mean 
that  I  expect  to  put  the  molasses-barrel  and 
the  butter-tubs  back  exactly  where  they  used 
to  stand,  nor  to  close  out  the  new  lines;  that 
would  be  only  foolishness.  But  I  think  I  '11 
try  running  the  place  again  on  his  motto  of 
live  and  let  live,— even  if  it  does  n't  make  so 
much  money. ' ' 

"And  the  Wollaston  store  too?"  she  in 
quired. 

' '  That  's  a  harder  question.  It  'd  likely  end 
in  that  store's  not  making  any  money  at  all. 
I  'm  afraid  I  Ve  showed  those  Wollaston 
storekeepers  a  few  tricks  that  they  could  turn 
against  me  now." 

"Well,  then,  you  could  close  it  up." 

"Yes,  I  could  close  it  up.    But  that  would 


TWO  IN  COUNCIL  253 

be  rather  extreme.  "Well,  I  have  n't  decided 
about  that  matter.  We  '11  see.  I  '11  modify 
things  some,  to  start  with.  Can't  reform 
everything  all  at  once,  eh!— not  even  myself." 

His  tone  had  a  touch  of  humor,  yet  Mrs. 
Harney  realized  more  and  more  as  he  talked, 
how  keenly  the  events  of  the  day  had  come 
home  to  him,  and  how  active  his  restless 
thoughts  had  since  been. 

"Do  you  think  Steve  and  Olive  would  come 
back  to  the  Landing  to  live,  Ellen?"  he  asked 
suddenly. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  'm  afraid  not. 
Steve  has  a  pretty  independent  spirit.  And 
his  position  in  Boston  seems  a  very  promis 
ing  one." 

"Well,  I  suppose  losing  Olive  is  just  another 
thing  we  can't  undo.  If  he  'd  come  back,  I 
could  put  him  in  Thornton 's  place  in  the  town 
store." 

"He  won't,  I  'm  sure." 

"They  could  have  this  house  to  live  in,  too. 
What  shall  we  do  with  it,  Ellen?  Sell  it  to 
Pierce?  He  '11  buy  it  in  a  flash.  He  's  often 
said  he  'd  like  to  live  out  here.  Or  had  we 
really  better  stay  on  in  it  ourselves,  after  all? 
I  think  we  can  be  happier  in  it  now  than  we 
have  been." 


254  PROPHET'S  LANDING 

"It  's  hard  to  say,  Joel.  We  '11  have  to 
think  it  over.  We  '11  have  a  good  deal  to  think 
over,  won't  we?  The  main  thing  is  that  you 
're  willing  to  think  things  over." 

He  stopped  in  front  of  her. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  that  is  the  main 
thing.  Strange  how  things  have  come  about, 
is  n't  it?" 

Mrs.  Harney  stood  up  and  put  her  hands  in 
her  husband 's.  Her  face  was  illumined,  as  she 
quoted  softly: 

"Behold,  a  great  and  strong  wind  rent  the 
mountains  and  brake  in  pieces  the  rocks,  but 
the  Lord  was  not  in  the  wind;  and  after  the 
wind,  an  earthquake,  but  the  Lord  was  not 
in  the  earthquake;  and  after  the  earth 
quake,  a  fire,  but  the  Lord  was  not  in  the  fire ; 
and  after  the  fire,  a  still,  small  voice." 

THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000118695     6 


:- 


